


My Big Fat Pureblood Wedding

by QueenyMidas



Series: My Big Fat Pureblood Wedding [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BDSM, Chaptered, Dom/sub, Domestic, Dysfunctional Family, F/F, F/M, Family Drama, Friendship, Love, M/M, Marriage, Same-Sex Marriage, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-05
Updated: 2013-01-04
Packaged: 2017-11-11 12:15:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 43
Words: 177,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/478457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenyMidas/pseuds/QueenyMidas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chaos ensues after Harry proposes to Draco on their three-year anniversary. The two must plan a wedding around their fighting friends, warring families, and each other's stubbornness. EWE, post-war, disregarding Remus, Sirius, and Colin's deaths and the fact that gay marriage is not legal in the UK.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dinner

**Author's Note:**

> I was watching Bridezillas and reading Drarry fics at the same time. It started as a little idea that grew within me until it was gigantic and begging to be written. Since I've had their wedding planned in my head since I started shipping them, I wanted to get it all down. This is a WIP and I am in school, so sorry if I'm late on updating things. Hope you enjoy!

**Chapter 1: Dinner**

   “I hate to be the one to tell you this, Harry,” Ron said cautiously, “but you are a dead man walking.”

   Harry sighed, leaning back into the red couch. “Thanks so much for your support.”

   “My support won’t mean very much when Lucius Malfoy is throttling you to death,” Ron warned, giving his best mate a cautious look.

   “Who’s going to be throttling Harry to death?” Hermione asked as she walked into the room, out of her heels, and set her bag down on the coffee table.

   “Hermione!” Ron jumped to his feet, greeting his wife with a kiss. “Didn’t even hear you come in. How was work?”

   Hermione smiled, shaking off his concern. She knew how he was rooting for her to get that promotion, but it really was too soon to ask for one. Even if Hermione had been improving the Department of Magical Law Enforcement significantly, it was all in due time. “It was fine. So who is trying to kill Harry this time?” She asked it jokingly, but it came out with a hint of concern.

   “Nobody is killing me, I am going to fine,” Harry assured her, “Ron is just overreacting.”

   Ron plopped back down on the couch, with Hermione taking a seat next to him. “I am not overreacting! Hermione, _he actually did it_.”

   Realization showed clear in her eyes. “Harry, you…?” Hermione trailed off, her brow knit in concern.

   “Yes! I proposed to Draco last night. It was in the gardens where we had our first date. It’s really not the end of the world,” Harry said, showing his left hand. His ring finger was clad in an engraved silver band, half of the matching set.

   “And he said ‘yes’?” Hermione asked carefully.

   “Of course he said yes. Can you two stop acting like that’s so awful?”

   Hermione took a deep breath. “It’s not awful! It’s wonderful that Draco said yes. Congratulations, really,” she said, trying to seem positive about this. “Right, Ron?”

   “It’s all just bloody peachy,” Ron said, and Hermione gave his hand a sharp squeeze.  “We’ll be there, okay?”

   “Okay,” Harry resigned, figuring that was good enough for now. He had figured three years of a relationship would give them enough of a warning, but old habits die hard. Especially when neither Draco nor Ron and Hermione had really made any effort to befriend one another. Harry always had to play mediator when they all met up, and Draco usually had to restrain his crazy friends. Parkinson had a tendency of getting violent. “Lucius is not going to kill me. I mean, he obviously won’t be happy, but I’ll be intact for the wedding.”

   “A wedding,” Ron said, as if he couldn’t believe the words were coming out of his mouth. “Ginny and mum will be thrilled, you know. They love all that wedding stuff.”

   Harry grinned, remembering how involved Molly had been in Ron and Hermione’s wedding. “I think Draco’s got a very specific idea of what it’s going to be like. He started talking about taupe versus ecru and I sort of tuned out.” He had mostly been so happy that Draco said ‘yes’ that Draco could have rambled on about anything and Harry wouldn’t have been able to focus if his life depended on it.

   Hermione laughed, no doubt imagining Draco raging in a pearly white dress over floral arrangements. She got up and walked to the phone, thumbing through takeout menus. “Want to stay for dinner?” she offered, holding up a Chinese menu. Harry’s stomach growled in response.

   “Sure, I’ll send Draco an owl.”

******

   Draco sat back down at the opulent white table after sending Harry’s owl back, and just as a house elf deposited his second course on the table. “Will the boy wonder be joining us? I haven’t even gotten a proper chance to hire someone to clean, wouldn’t want him being disappointed,” Pansy snarked, trying to catch a glance over the table at the paper in Draco’s hand.

   “He’s at the Weasel household. So, no,” Draco smirked, shoving the note in his pocket and away from prying eyes. Pansy’s house elf deposited a basket of bread on the table before scurrying off and leaving the two to themselves.

   “How unfortunate. What will we do if any ne’er-do-wells come knocking? We would simply perish,” Pansy teased. Draco rolled his eyes.

   “Alright, alright. Knock it off.” Draco was of the mindset that as much as he taunted Harry, nobody else was welcome to. It was a privilege all his own. He dug into the meal in front of him, a black peppered steak to top off the fettuccine they had for the first course. Pansy’s house elves always made the most exquisite meals, and it was medium-rare just like he liked it. It really was a pity Harry opposed keeping one in their flat.

   He reached for a piece of bread from the basket when Pansy’s nails closed around his hand. “Ow! What the hell? Unhand me, Parkinson,” he snapped, trying and failing to pull his hand back. Physical strength was never really his strong suit.

   “I should be asking you ‘what the hell’!” she shrieked, retracting her claws. “What in the good name of Salazar Slytherin is on your ring finger?”

   Draco took his hand back, rubbing over the spots where Pansy’s nails had dug in. “Brute. Someone really should declaw you. If you must know, it’s an engagement ring,” he bragged, watching as it reflected the lights from Pansy’s chandelier. He was surprised that Harry had picked something so very… Them. His taste in jewelry wasn’t the best, the cufflinks he’d gotten Draco two Christmases ago were still buried at the bottom of his sock drawer. The ring was silver, engraved with a beautifully intricate pattern on the outside, and a message on the inside. ‘For Draco. Love always, Harry.’

   “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

   “Why would I do that, Panda?” Draco teased, taking a bite out of the bread he’d fought so incredibly hard to win. Plus, using Pansy’s childhood nickname was always a low blow he enjoyed giving.

   Pansy let out an angry hiss. “So you’re going to be Mrs. Potter now? Can’t wait until the Prophet gets a load of that.”

   “For your information, we are hyphenating last names,” Draco informed her. “And the Prophet won’t be hearing about this until I tell mother and father. Do you understand?” An evil grin spread over Pansy’s heavily-glamoured face. “Pansy! You cannot go running to the Prophet like you did when Theo came out.”

   “I was going him a favor! It was _so_ much easier than doing an interview about it. Plus, the wizarding world already knows what big homos you and Potter are for each other. I’d just be informing them of a development in their precious power couple’s romance,” Pansy defended. Draco shot her one of his _looks_ , and she threw up her hands dramatically in frustration. “Fine! Theo forgave me in the end, after all. But the second you two zip off on your honeymoon, I hope you know I will be giving that rag all of the juicy details.”

   Draco couldn’t help but smile. Pansy was such an incorrigible, gossipy socialite. He remembered her reaction when he had informed her he would actually be getting a job rather than freeloading off of his parents and partying with her all year. Pansy had actually thrown a vase. “I wouldn’t expect anything less,” Draco admitted. Being best friends with Pansy had its own risks and stipulations. He decided he’d save her ‘maid of honor’ news for later, and returned to eating his steak.


	2. Fiancée

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco definitely loves that word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the faves, follows, and reviews. This is supposed to be sort of a satire, to address the ‘angst’ angle of things. There are some angsty sections and lines right now (and there will be quite a bit of angst come the week before the wedding) but I consider this to be a pretty light fic.

**Chapter 2: Fiancée**

   When Draco arrived at his flat later that night, he was a little more than pleasantly inebriated. He may or may not have been stumbling, and some impaired judgment was definitely in play. Draco kicked off his shoes leisurely, rather happy with himself. Despite Pansy’s whining and protests, she’d actually calmed down enough by the end of the night to accept reality. A rare occurrence in the Parkinson family. On top of that, Draco had broken the news of her ‘maid of honor’ status when she broke out the alcohol. Always a good time to give her information. Pansy had a seemingly never-ending flow of booze, and Draco was a little more than susceptible to the charms of a crystal wine glass himself. Even when it was filled with something a little stronger than wine.

   Only when Draco removed his cloak did he realize that he could hear water running. He grinned, deciding he would simply have to join the gorgeous man currently in his shower. Their shower. He was always forgetting his ‘we’s, ‘our’s and ‘their’s. On the other hand, Harry was the first to throw in a ‘we love Quidditch’ or an ‘our oven’. _Bloody Gryffindor,_ Draco thought fondly.

   Draco stripped as he walked, leaving a trail of crumpled clothes in his wake. His shirt in the entrance, his trousers in the living room, his pants in the bedroom… When Draco reached the door connecting the bedroom to the bathroom he was entirely naked.

    Too drunk to consider knocking, Draco barged in unannounced, much to Harry’s surprise.

   “Merlin, Draco!” Harry exclaimed from the shower, “Shout a warning or something, I almost reached for my wand.” Harry’s glasses were set on the sink, and Draco made note of the fact that he hadn’t even bothered laying out pyjamas for himself.

   “’Almost’ being the key word,” Draco said, admiring Harry’s dripping-wet form through the foggy glass door. “Wouldn’t want to hex your fi- _an_ -cée.” Draco loved that word more than he cared to admit. Until a few days ago, his life had been a tug-of-war between ‘boyfriend’ and ‘lover’. He was glad there was finally a clear decision. Also, he just liked how the word sounded. “Fiiiiiiiiancée.”

   “You’re foxed,” Harry decided, opening the glass door to invite Draco in.

   The invitation was happily accepted, and Draco greeted him with a sloppy kiss beneath the spray. “I am not,” he argued. “Also, turn the water pressure up. I don’t understand how you feel content to stand under a trickle.” Draco added, his own showers usually scalding hot and with water pelting him. Harry turned the showerhead up a notch, but not all the way. _Typical_.  “I was just celebrating with Pansy.”

   “Wait, Parkinson was actually _excited_?” Harry asked in disbelief.

   “Not really,” Draco laughed, though it sounded more like a hiccup. “I celebrated. She mourned. Her loss, I had _much_ more fun.” Draco leaned against Harry, pressing a few kisses to the hollow of his throat to show him that his fun wasn’t entirely over yet.

   Harry wrapped his arm around Draco’s waist, partially to hold him steady. “I told Ron and Hermione. They seemed…” Harry tried to find the right word, but the only ones he could think of were ‘concerned’, ‘protective’, and ‘wary’. None of those were entirely awful things to be, but Harry still wished they were a little happier for him. Harry had been borderline overjoyed when they’d announced their nuptials; he’d actually sprung out of his seat and hugged them both. Now, they were treating his like a mistake Harry hadn’t known he’d made yet. He didn’t blame them too much, considering their tumultuous past with Draco and his entire family. Hermione still bore a scar from one of Draco’s more fanatic relatives.

   “Delighted, I’m sure,” Draco scoffed, running his fingertips up the side of Harry’s ribcage.

   “They seemed happy when I told them about the fact that they were my best man and my maid of honor,” Harry pointed out, needing to play the role of the optimist because Draco certainly wasn’t going to.

   “Shit,” Draco hissed, remembering his own groomsmen situation. “I keep forgetting to owl Theo. He’ll be happy for an excuse to wear dressrobes again.”

   “S’fine, we have time,” Harry said, running a bar of soap down Draco’s back. Draco leaned into his touch, nudging his nose against Harry’s neck. They lingered there for a few moments in the steam of the shower, tiny rivers running over their toned bodies. “You are so beautiful,” Harry said as he ran his hands up and down Draco’s spine.

   “Oh, Harry. Flattery will get you everywhere.” It took him a couple of seconds, but Draco finally found his footing and shoved Harry into the tile wall, kissing him. Hard.

   As he always did after a little guidance, Harry received the message loud and clear. He ran his fingers through Draco’s wet, platinum hair as the water continued to pour down. His other hand followed the slope of Draco’s pack and on to the curve of his arse. The route was familiar to the point of memorization, but never old. Draco moaned into Harry’s mouth and pressed their bodies closer together.

   His all-too-talented-even-when-smashed fingers made their way down to Harry’s nipples, making teasing circles until they were perked up under the water. Draco grinned, knowing how sensitive they were, and lapped at the left one with his tongue. He could feel Harry’s heartbeat just below his skin and the heat pooling in his own stomach.

   Draco rested his hands on Harry’s waist and rocked their hips together, his hard length rubbing against Harry’s. “Fuck,” Harry groaned, bucking up to meet the friction, “need more.”

   After a few more torturous thrusts, Draco pressed a quick kiss to Harry’s lips. Then, without breaking eye contact, he sank to his knees. The water ran down his face but Draco couldn’t be arsed to care, his grey eyes flicking down to Harry’s prick. Moisture gathered on Draco’s eyelashes as he moved forward, lightly sucking on the tip.

   Harry let out a small whimper, sinking his fingers back into Draco’s hair. “Please,” he whined.

   There was nothing Draco enjoyed more than reducing Harry to begging. On top of that, there was nothing Harry enjoyed more than Draco taking the reins in bed. Or in the shower. _To each their own,_ Harry supposed. He certainly wasn’t complaining.

   When Draco didn’t seem to be letting up on his teasing any time soon, Harry tried moving his hips up to find Draco had pinned them to the tile wall. “Please, fuck, _Draco_ ,” he begged, losing all sense of coherency. “ _Your mouth_.”

   Draco smirked around Harry’s cock before moving down the shaft inch by inch. He slowly started sucking him, establishing a rhythm while his tongue stroked the underside of Harry’s throbbing member.

   “Yes,” Harry groaned, tugging on Draco’s hair. Despite his limited movement from being pinned, Harry was still determined to move his hips along with Draco’s warm, hot mouth. It really was unfair; being a veritable god of cocksucking even while tipsy.

   The blonde quickened his pace, taking Harry in deeper and faster. His own cock twitched with every noise Harry made, having him moan above him was divine. Draco rubbed at himself along with the bob of his head, giving Harry quite a show.

   It had to be one of the most erotic things he’d ever seen. Draco, on his knees, Harry’s prick in his mouth and his hand wrapped around his own erection. Water streamed down their bodies, still warm from their permanently charmed shower. The droplets of water on Harry’s sensitized skin were almost too much. “So hot, Draco, yes,” Harry gasped out, his breathing becoming ragged. All it took was a few more caresses of Draco’s tongue and a few more pumps from his hand and they were both coming, shuddering against the frame of the shower.

   Draco rode out the orgasm, swallowing down his cum. He finally let Harry’s limp cock slide out of his mouth, leaning back on the other side of the tub. Harry’s knees felt weak, so he sank down to face his fiancée. When they both caught their breaths, Harry shot him a smile. “C’mere. Let me wash your hair,” he offered, grabbing the shampoo from the shower shelf.

   The other man simply rolled his eyes, still admittedly rather foxed, shifting to sit between Harry’s legs. Harry worked the specially-brewed vanilla and mulberry shampoo into his hair, massaging his temples. Draco let out a content sigh, leaning back to rest on him. “Mmm, love you.”

   “I love you too, Draco.”

******

   When Harry's blasted alarm blared its usual wake-up call —a strange conglomeration of muggle music that Harry somehow found enjoyable— Draco shoved his pillow over his head to drown it out.

   His temples throbbed with the memory of the copious amounts of firewhiskey he'd had the night before. "Ungrhk," he moaned, cursing Thursdays in their entirety. Draco curled into the warm body beside him, seeking some sympathy.

   "Come on, sleeping beauty. We’ve both got work soon," Harry said, taking the pillow off of Draco's pounding head and kissing his temple.

   "Why are you shouting?" Draco whined.

   Harry nuzzled up to his fiancée's naked body, giving his arm a comforting squeeze. "Let me make you a hangover brew," he whispered into his neck before shifting up and padding out to the kitchen.

   Draco whimpered, staying in bed and listening to the distant clink of plates and glasses in the kitchen. He curled the champagne colored sheets around him, despite the fact that he never wanted to think of champagne ever again. Or at least for the rest of the day. When they'd originally decorated the flat, it had been a struggle of styles. Draco preferred Slytherin green, while Harry couldn't seem to shake the red he'd spent so much time around at Hogwarts. After several loud arguments in muggle and wizarding stores alike, they'd decided on a soft, earthy palette that included both dark green and maroon accents.

   The sound of a self-stirring cauldron whirring dragged Draco out of his interior design reminiscing, and he cursed Theo for sending them the damned thing for Christmas. He was in a very cursing mood.

   By the time Harry came in with the hangover potion, Draco's headache had doubled. "Here," he murmured, handing Draco a mug that read, 'Auror of the Month'. When the hell wasn't the Golden Boy Auror of the Month? They had a whole collection of useless hats, shirts, and certificates that said so. Either way, Draco took the mug and gulped the foul-smelling potion down.

   “Fantastic,” Draco said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

   Harry simply acted like he didn’t hear him. “We still have some of those donuts from yesterday,” he pointed out, perhaps in a quiet attempt to cheer Draco up.

   “The chocolate ones?”

   “Those exactly,” he grinned, watching as Draco practically bolted to the kitchen. Either the potion had worked, or Draco’s sweet tooth had grown overnight.

   Harry slipped on his trousers and walked into the kitchen, grabbing a sugary treat of his own. He’d brought them home the other night after one of the muggleborn interns at the Ministry insisted it was a joke about police forces. Harry hadn’t actually heard anything like that around the Dursleys, but who was he to pass up a clear display of kindness?

   Once they’d both eaten and dressed, they grabbed their respective cloaks and took the lift down together. They lived in a wizarding section of London, close by to a Ministry entrance and close enough to St. Mungo’s.

   Most of the population had been shocked when Draco started working there as a Healer, and a fraction of those people hated him enough to form a picket-line around the hospital. Draco had put on a brave face for the whole ordeal, suffering in silence like he usually did. His genuine desire to try to help the world he’d aided in breaking shone through to most members of the public through his numerous articles and statements, but the howlers still rolled in by the hundreds most days. In a tragicomic twist of fate, one night the ever-beloved Auror Potter arrived in his operating room, near death from a paralysis spell hitting him mid-air on his broom. Potter had fallen from the broom and almost tumbled to an early grave on account of a black market magical creatures dealer selling dragon eggs on the run. Draco had worked for hours that night, refusing to give up on the prat he had hated so much in school. Finally, at 7:53am the next day, his vitals had returned to normal.

   When word got out to the Prophet that Draco had been the one who helped save him, the press went wild. With Harry confined to a strict bed rest on Healer Malfoy’s orders, they’d gotten quite a lot of time to get to know each other again. In some ways, they were still the same. Draco was still snippy and cocky, while Harry was still stubborn and idealistic.

   Yet somehow, the two didn’t fight nearly as much. Draco discovered that Harry was actually rather clever; a loyal man who remained humble despite the massive pedestal the public had put him on. Just as Harry discovered Draco was finally making his own decisions rather than having his parents run his life, and starting to educate himself on all of the horrible things he’d said as a teenager. They had the same taste in sports teams, food, and even the same wry and dry sense of humor. Harry had even got an apology out of him, which was practically unheard of. From that moment on, Harry knew Draco was a good man, as much as he often liked to pretend he wasn’t.

   The real media insanity came when Harry left St. Mungo’s, and was still spotted in public with Draco. The headlines heralded a ‘Shocking Friendship between Two Ex-Foes!’, ‘The Sign We Are Truly United as a People!’, and a ‘New Generation of Peace!’. They had both laughed at the Prophet’s speculations, a quiet companionship blossoming between them all the while.

   A few months later, they truly went from the frying pan into the fire. After a stray photographer captured their first kiss in a pub with a flash of his bulb, the wizarding world was turned upside-down. People sent love potion antidotes to Harry, pleading with him not to be lured in by some Death Eater, while Draco had received death threats from Harry’s adoring fans. Harry had actually made a pretty big show of drinking one of the love potion antidotes in front of a reporter, then still proclaiming he was mad for Draco Malfoy.

   After that, the papers couldn’t get enough of them. They stalked them on dates, followed them to group outings, documented every fight, and even located both of the separate flats they were living in at the time. People either loved them or hated them, which was not something the two were entirely unused to. Some declared they were a step in the right direction for peace and queer-wizard rights, to others they were an abomination and traitors to their old causes, and to their friends they were a source of headache and confusion. To Draco and Harry, they were just a couple.

   Either way, all of that had lead up to them kissing goodbye in front of their building, heading off to separate days.

******

   It was later that night when Draco heard a knock on his office door. “Come in!” he shouted, his lap and desk full of patients files he was sorting through.

   To his surprise, it was one of the medi-witches, Maggie. “You weren’t answering your phone,” she said sternly. Maggie had been a comrade of his since his first day, ushering most of his patients into the hospital rooms and preparing them for him.

   “Busy.” Draco didn’t very much like the idea of muggle technology being installed in the hospital; he was convinced there was a magic way around it.

   “Well, you have a visitor down in the lobby,” Maggie informed him as she leaned against his white doorframe, absent-mindedly picking at her nails. It made Draco’s skin crawl.

   “Tell them I’m in a meeting. Or that someone is dying, whatever works,” he drawled, trying to redirect his attention to the sea of files around him.

   Maggie gave him a little ‘tsk’. “I’m not your secretary. And I tried that, for the record. He won’t go away.”

   Draco frowned and waved his wand so that all the files flew back into their correct cabinets in his office. “Fine,” he huffed. “I’ll go placate whatever member of Harry’s fanclub that wants to duel me now.”

   He made his way down to the lobby, striding past a flurry of witches and wizards healing the broken and the sick. His office was on the second floor, and as he walked down the stairs he immediately saw who was making such a fuss.

   “…Just tell him I’m here, okay? And that I’m going to give him a swift kick in the arse for not knowing how to work a goddamn phone.”

   “Theodore! Darling,” Draco teased. “You really need to control that temper of yours.” Theo had been one of the only people Draco had considered to be an equal for a long time, and he still considered him his best mate. The kind of best mate who called you out every time you were being an arse, and invited you to do the same.

   The dark-haired man snorted, walking to meet Draco at the bottom of the stairs. “ _You_ really need to learn not to tell Pansy anything that you don’t want the rest of the world knowing.”

   _Fuck_.  “I knew not looking at the Prophet this morning was a mistake—“

   “I’m not talking about the Prophet, Draco. Come on, you’re getting married and you tell _her_ first?” The people in the lobby were beginning to stare and whisper, so Draco grabbed him by his leather jacket and hauled him into an empty examination room.

   Draco sighed, sitting down in the swivel chair that the Healers used. “I was going to tell you tonight. Pansy got it out of me last night, she had alcohol and everything!” While that might not have been the exact truth, it was close enough. He _was_ actually going to pop in to Theo’s later tonight. But his friend gave him that I-know-when-you’re-bullshitting-me-Malfoy look, and he cracked. “Sorry.”

   “That’s all I wanted to hear,” Theo said happily, quite content with the trouble he’d caused Draco.

   “Prat.”

   “Always will be,” he shrugged, taking a seat on the patient’s slab. “Now come on, tell me all about it. Did he get on one knee? How many carats does the wedding band have? Did you _cry_?”

   Draco grinned from ear to ear. Finally, a positive reaction. He could always count on Theo for that. From day one Theodore had told them that if Harry made Draco happy, he was happy. “I did not cry. But yes, he did get down on one knee in the hanging gardens where we went on our first date; the one where that paparazzi got the shot of us together. It was wildly romantic, and Harry really is wonderful with things like that,” he gushed. “We’re picking out the wedding bands together, but they’ll be silver. See?” Draco held up his left hand.

   “That’s fantastic,” Theo said, reaching out to hold Draco’s hand up to the light. “Congratulations! I can’t wait for the wedding. Knowing you, the waiters and ushers will be choreographed to perfection.”

   “What can I say? I won’t accept anything less,” he smirked. Draco rolled his chair closer to Theo, giving his hand a squeeze. “Now, I’ve got something to tell you.”

   “Oh, fuck. You’re pregnant, is that it? I always knew it’d be a shotgun wedding with the likes of you,” Theo mock-chided.

   Draco gave him a playful shove. “Screw you! That’s not even possible. And _I_ would never have a shotgun wedding.”

   “Right, because you’d replace all the shotguns with wands?”

   “I’m trying to ask you a question, Theodore.”

   “Ask away, Drakey.” Draco gave him another shove for calling him The Nickname That Must Not Be Used.

   “ _Never call me that_. Now it’s not even a question. Cut it out and be my best man.”

   Theo smiled, dropping his usual antics. “Sure,” he softened.

   “Good. Now don’t go disrupting the receptionists and medi-wizards again. I can only really explain one mysterious gentleman always calling for me at the front desk. When there are two, people start to talk,” Draco teased. The whole idea that people would even mistake them as a couple had been a joke since their years in Hogwarts. They thought of each other as brothers despite their shared sexual preference, and dissolved into laughter every time someone asked them if they’d ever tried dating.

   “Fine, fine. Now come on you big poof, let me take you out to celebrate,” Theo said. “Unless you’re all tuckered out from your admission to the She-Beast?”

   Draco let out a huff of air. “I’m perfectly fine. My _fiancée_ made me a hangover potion in the morning.” He really, really loved that word.

   “Oh, _well then_. Some men really do have it all,” Theo jabbed jokingly.

   Draco stood up, giving him one of his signature smirks. “Of course. Now _you_ come on! After all, tonight is on you.”


	3. Father Dearest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco reveals his engagement to his parents. Nothing goes as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Thanks again for all of the people who’ve given me reviews, and a special thanks to Kathleen for reading my porn. That’s just girl code. Hope you’re all enjoying this!

**Chapter 3: Father Dearest**

   With his shift drawing to a close, Harry found himself in the Ministry break room. Kingsley had him and Ron tracking a group of thieves that had broken into two muggle museums that week. With a couple of spells, all of the 'maximum security' establishments were left vulnerable and open. The strange part was that nothing had been stolen. Yet. ****

"They could always have been doing it for the thrill," Ron suggested.

   "Wouldn't actually stealing be more of a thrill, though?" Harry wondered out loud.

   Ron shrugged. "We'll ask them about it when we haul them in. They're sloppy as hell. The robes they left behind, the fact that we have a strand of hair..."

   "Yeah, it'll be over soon." He was eager to get the case closed and move on to something substantial. Kingsley was always putting Harry on low-profile cases in order to avoid media attention or being recognized. Usually, if he wrapped them up quickly he was allowed to get into some real danger. Harry walked to the window only to find Draco's grey owl pecking at the siding. He quickly opened the window and let him in, curious as to what Draco was doing. The previous night he'd spent with Theo, and the night before that with Parkinson... Harry was getting a little lonely eating in front of the television. Especially since Draco hated the technology so much. Things like that always reminded Harry of him.

   When he unfurled the parchment, Harry immediately recognized Draco's small, neat handwriting. It was what he said in the letter that disturbed him.

   "What's wrong, Harry? His Highness in any trouble?" Ron teased.

   "No, I am," Harry said gravely, not even bothering to correct Ron's insult.

   "What—”

   "His parents want us to come over tonight."

   Ron put a hand on his shoulder. "It was nice knowing you, mate."

   Harry gave him a baleful look. "I'll live. I'm just worried is all. I don't want Draco to have any more reasons to be distant from his parents," Harry said quietly. There wasn't exactly any love lost on Harry's side of the deal for Lucius, but Harry still wanted his husband-to-be to have a good relationship with him. Narcissa had always been kind to Harry, and he certainly hadn't forgotten the way she lied to Voldemort. It had been to find her son, but it had saved Harry's life. Harry found himself wishing he had parents of his own to tell about his engagement. He wondered if they'd be proud. If he asked Remus and Sirius, they'd insist that his parents would love him no matter what, but he wanted to know exactly what they would have said, how they would have reacted.

   For a while, Harry had been afraid of what his parents might think about his sexuality. Remus and Sirius were their best friends, but he was their son. It was one thing to have gay friends and another to give birth to one. After countless stories and questions, the couple had managed to convince him that James and Lily would have been wildly happy if they found out he was gay. Now the problem was the fact that it was one thing to be gay and another to be with a Malfoy. In every wizarding history book there was a mention of someone in the Malfoy family either passing laws to ban muggleborns from wizarding schools, or just plain hunting them down. It depended how far back in history one went.

   "It'll be fine." Harry wasn't sure if he was trying to comfort Ron or himself. "It's not like they can stop us."

******

   Draco and Harry had apparated onto the porch of Malfoy Manor, the wards having been lowered for their arrival. The old house was still dark and foreboding, but was currently undergoing renovations. Narcissa had already replaced every piece of furniture and had moved on to remodeling the outside architecture. Lucius had accused her of erasing his family history, but knew the ancient wood held too many memories of the late Dark Lord and the horrors that he had committed.

   "Scared, Potter?" Draco snarked when he noticed Harry staring at the exposed infrastructure of the house with a little too much concentration.

   "You wish," Harry replied, clinging to their old banter like a security blanket. The Manor made the hairs on the back of his neck stick up. It didn't matter how many walls they rebuilt or how much lighter they painted the porch, it still seemed as threatening as the day Harry had been taken there by snatchers.

   Draco gave his hand a squeeze. "Seriously. Are you okay?"

   "Yeah," Harry lied. "Let's go."

   Draco took hold of the brand new knocker with his other hand and banged it against the door. The sound echoed inside the spacious estate, and a shuffling of feet came towards the door.

   "Master Draco, Master Potter, Gerda will bring you to the dining room," the house elf said quietly.

   "Call me Harry," he reminded her. The Malfoys had been forced to obtain new house elves after the war, and unfortunately, the market seemed to be growing despite all of the social progress after the war. Hermione had raged when she found out Draco's family still used house elves, especially after Dobby. "Remember, Gerda?" The elf shook her head.

   Draco opened his mouth to protest that Harry just let the creature do her job when she motioned for them to follow. They walked through the Manor's long halls, filled with disappointed-looking pictures of Draco's ancestors. On top of sending away their house elves, the Malfoys had been forced to give a considerable percent of their wealth away to the reparation of Hogwarts and many Diagon Alley shops in order to avoid time in Azkaban. They still were considered well-off, but they'd had to make certain lifestyle adjustments and sell family heirlooms.

   They reached the dining room, lit by floating candles and a roaring fireplace, and were greeted by Narcissa. The splintered and dark dining table and chairs had been replaced with mahogany and dark green cushions to boot. The dark-paned windows had been replaced with smaller ones with colored glass that seem to change colors depending on the viewer's position in the room. On the table, plates of finger food and bread invited them in. It almost looked like a home.

   "Hello, Draco. Hello, Harry," she said, rising to give her son a hug. Narcissa simply nodded her head politely at his better half. "How have you both been?"

   "Simply wonderful," Draco answered with ease, and Harry watched in awe as he slipped seamlessly into his Only Heir of the Malfoy Fortune voice.

   "Just great," Harry added. "The renovations are really coming along nicely." Draco _had_ told him flattery would get him everywhere.

   "Thank you, dear."

   "Will father be joining us?" Draco asked, a hint of nervousness poking through.

   "Yes, he's just upstairs. We're selling some of the foyer paintings to a museum, and he simply _has_ to know if he's getting the right price on them," Narcissa explained. "He will be down soon. Please, sit."

   They all pulled out chairs and placed the napkins over the laps. This definitely wasn't Harry's first visit to the Manor, and he'd made all the faux-pas the first couple of time around. Not washing his hands in the bowls in front of them, not correctly opening the napkin on his lap, not letting everyone else sit before him... Once he'd even fallen out of the chair.

  Lucius definitely kept a tally of those mistakes, as he had since they first met in second year. No doubt he had essays compiled of reasons Draco would be better off with some pureblood. Lucius had slowly accepted that his only son would never be lusting after women, or even be content marrying one, but being with Harry Potter was something Lucius firmly believed Draco didn't need. Finding a 'nice pureblood young gentleman' had been his goal for the past year, but they were either not to Draco's liking, not pure enough, not wealthy enough, or Theodore Nott. Draco refused the latter fervently.

   "Welcome home, Draco," Lucius said smoothly as he entered, stirring Harry from his memories. "Potter."

   "Hello, sir." Harry rose to his feet and gave him a firm handshake. Lucius looked him over once and proceeded to ignore him entirely. It infuriated Harry that he had to spend time trying to walk on eggshells around a man who had put his wife and child through so much, on top of having skewed values. The fact that he believed Draco considered the Manor 'home' was another rant entirely.

   "Father," Draco acknowledged, accepting a pat on the shoulder. Lucius moved to sit at the head of the table, taking his seat and signaling for Gerda to start serving.

   "How is your work going?" Lucius questioned, making it very clear he was speaking to Draco.

   "It's wonderful, naturally," Draco responded. "Lots of new illnesses, lots of potions accidents. All kinds of exciting things." Only Draco could describe maladies as 'exciting'.

   Lucius nodded in approval, and Harry gave Draco a tense smile. Harry wasn't afraid of anything Lucius could do to him. Harry's opinion of himself and his relationship didn't rely on the man's approval. Not to mention his training and knowledge of defensive spells would outmatch the elder Malfoy if anything ever came to blows. Draco, on the other hand, still looked to his father for acceptance. Even after all the hell Lucius put his family through, they were still family.

   "Draco, darling, you mentioned in your letter that you had something to tell us," Narcissa mentioned in a nonchalant tone.

   In a momentously rare occasion, Harry and Lucius both asked, "What letter?" The two made eye contact, realizing both at once that their significant others had been up to something.

   "I thought you said they invited us here," Harry hissed under his breath.

   "Mother and I maintain a very frequent correspondence. The lines between invitation and visitation are often blurred," Draco said in that same arrogant tone he used around his parents. Harry gave him a look, translating to: _don't patronize me_.

   "Either way," Narcissa recovered, "What is it, sweetheart?" Harry should have known they would need to work in tandem to break the news to Lucius, but Harry was still frustrated that he was only let in on the plan minutes before it happened.

   "Well," Draco started before the dining room door opened. Harry smelled the first course before he saw Gerda carting it in. It was Shepard's pie, one of Draco's favorites.

   "Thank you," Harry said as she put his plate down in front of him. Gerda shook her head up and down wildly. Harry knew what Dobby went through in service to the Malfoys, and Harry could only imagine what they'd done to her.

   "Yes, again, what we have to say," Draco began again, trying to cover up Harry's bout of kindness. He turned to his fiancée, seeking help.

   "Right, so," Harry continued, trying to improvise. "I love your son, very much." Draco nodded for emphasis. "And. Erm. Well, we are pretty serious about this relationship." Lucius narrowed his eyes. "When two people love each other very much—"

   "You don't need to give us the birds and bees talk, Potter," Lucius snapped.

   "I'm not trying to! We're just trying to tell you that—"

   "Lucius, can you please not be argumentative about this," Narcissa sighed, turning to her husband.

   "After a lot of consideration—"

   "Who's being argumentative? I'm only telling the Ministry's Golden Boy that I'm not naive to what he and our son get up to," Lucius snarled.

   "We want you to be a part of—"

   "Harry is a perfectly nice boy! And a half-blood. It's not like he’s a muggleborn," Narcissa countered.

   "It wouldn't matter if I was! Actually—"

    "'Perfectly nice boy'! Narcissa, you are out of your mind if you think him and his dangerous Gryffindor antics are up to par with what we want for Draco."

   "You know, we're not in school anymore—"

   "He's got money, he's rather handsome, and he treats Draco well, what more do you want?" Narcissa pleaded.

   "This is getting to be ridic—"

   "What I want is for our only child to grow out of this phase and move on with his life!"

   "WE'RE GETTING MARRIED!" Draco shouted, ending the clamor of noise and arguments. The room fell entirely silent, and Lucius opened his mouth to say something. "Father, please."

   Of all the things Lucius Malfoy could have hurled at the couple, of the wide library of insults he'd stockpiled over the years, he found that nothing properly fit the situation. No expression of rage, disappointment, or frustration could properly display just how much of the three he felt.

   "That's..." Narcissa seemed to be searching for words. "A very big step."

   "We know," Harry assured her.

   "It's permanent. Divorces don't happen often in this family," she reminded them.

   "Mother, we're not even married yet and you're talking about divorce?" Draco asked with a hint of exhaustion in his voice.

   "Oh, Draco. I am happy for you, I really am. You're twenty-five, I do think that it's time you started thinking about settling down, too."

   "Who said anything about settling down?" Draco grinned mischievously, his Heir Voice completely abandoned.

   Narcissa smiled and Draco's foot found Harry's under the table. Lucius remained silent through the second and third course while the three talked vows and cakes, excusing himself entirely before dessert. Draco had asked him to stay and gotten a cold glare in return.

   "He'll come around, sweetheart," Narcissa comforted Draco, taking his hand in hers. "He always does. Don't worry about it."

   Telling Draco not to worry was like telling him not to breathe. After a few minutes, he needed to. He'd gotten so used to worrying that he could do it about almost anything from dates to kitchen furniture.

   "Thank you so much for the food, it was delicious," Harry said to fill the silence that had formed, and spooned another bite of lava cake into his mouth. Harry knew very well that Narcissa hadn't exactly been slaving over an oven all day, but he had to be in the good graces of at least one of the Malfoy parents. Plus, it _was_ delicious.

   "Any time," Narcissa said smoothly. "You're always welcome here, despite how stubborn my husband can be."

   "I'll owl him tomorrow," Draco offered more to himself than anyone else.

   "I'll try and talk to him about it tonight. Your getting married is a good thing, and he will understand."

   Harry felt adding in the 'eventually' was uncalled for.

******

    By the time they were back home and in bed, Draco felt restless. He twirled the engagement ring around his finger, a nervous habit he'd picked up over the past few days.

   Harry slept like a log, entirely dead to the world. _Thank Salazar he doesn't snore,_ Draco thought. What he did do in his sleep, though, was look entirely adorable. His dark hair fell over his closed eyes, and his hands stretched out to hold on tight to Draco. Though Draco would never admit it out loud, he loved every second of it. He never thought he’d be the type to enjoy sharing a bed, considering he didn’t enjoy sharing very much at all. Harry didn’t even mind when he stole all the covers.

   Draco smoothed back his hair knowing it wouldn’t wake Harry’s slumber, letting his lips ghost over the bridge of his nose. Harry had been wonderful with his mother today, and what happened with his father wasn’t his fault at all. The only thing that could cure Lucius’ bitterness was time.

   He shoved it from his mind, turning his attention back to the present and away from the hypothetical future. Draco, ever the victim of an active mind, began to draft seating charts in his mind. He fell asleep thinking of floral arrangements and centerpieces.


	4. The Hunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco drags Harry around the globe looking for The Perfect Ring and they hit some bumps along the road. In the end, it is very much worth Harry's while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Thanks a million for the follows, favorites, and reviews! I’ve really missed writing Drarry, and I’m really happy that you guys seem to like it. Also, ammolite is a real rock sold mostly by Korite International. There is a limited supply being dug out of Canada and some American states, and I’ve seen the rocks in person on jewelry tours over the past summers. They’re stunning, really.

**Chapter 4: The Hunt**

   Draco lived for Saturdays. From the lazy moments of the early morning to the inevitable passion of the night, it was Draco’s all-time favorite day. Currently he was somewhere in between, finishing his scoop of strawberry ice-cream. The weather was finally getting warm enough for it as May started to roll around into June.

   He'd always dreamed of having a summer wedding. The date had been set for a sunny day in August, late in the day so the reception could go well into the night. And then, of course, the honeymoon. Draco had a whole other set of fantasies and dreams for that night. He intended to start off their marriage with a bang, no pun intended. The whole event was something he'd been planning since he was a kid, fake-marrying Pansy in his parlor. At least Draco was attracted to the person he was with this time around.

   "Go any faster and you'll get brain freeze," Harry warned him. The two were seated in front of a little ice-cream shop that changed to a cocoa hut in the winter that they frequented.

   "Thangfs, mather." Draco managed to be snarky with a mouth full of the cold treat. Unfortunately, the jab also reminded him of the tumultuous meeting with his parents the previous night. He would allow Lucius a few days to cool off, but in the meantime Draco found himself fretting about it. He had a sinking feeling his father would never quite understand why he wanted to be with Harry.

   Harry shook his head, snapping Draco out of his thoughts, and scooped up another morsel of his cookies-and-cream. "So where to first?" They'd both decided to go wedding ring shopping the first day they were free, and this was that day. Draco pulled out a disturbingly long list. He was grateful for the mental subject change. "Er..."

   "First," Draco said, clearing his throat of the leftover ice-cream. "We browse the shops around London, per your request, mind you." Harry watched on in amusement, knowing he was in for a wild ride. "Then Diagon Alley, Knockturn Alley--"

   "We are not buying our wedding bands from Knockturn Alley."

   "There are a lot of quality jewelers there! The diamonds may be filched, but they're stunning," Draco informed him. Harry simply shook his head and allowed him to continue. "Then we're hitting the floo system and taking a bit of a world tour."

   "A bit?" Harry put his spoon down.

   "Some of the best designers have warehouses in other countries," Draco protested. "Harry." He took his hand in his. "It'll be fun. Unless you have other plans?"

   Harry sighed, knowing how easy he made it for his fiancée to talk him into things. "No other plans, just you."

   "Good," Draco said, lifting Harry's hand up and giving it a kiss.

******

   Three countries and ten stores later, Draco hadn't found The Perfect Rings. He promised Harry again and again that they were out there, waiting for them. Gallantly declaring he'd know which ones like love at first sight, Draco dragged him from fireplace to fireplace. So far, all the rings had been too tacky, too understated, too gaudy, too plain, and one had even been too sparkly. Harry had to adjust his glasses just to look at it.

   "No, no, definitely no, nope, maybe if we were boring, no, no..."

   "Draco. Pick one. I will wear anything on my ring finger to get you to stop."

   "Even this one?" Draco asked, holding up a gold and silver ring with chunks of bright amethyst littered over the surface.

   "Anything but that," Harry corrected himself. He slipped his arms around Draco, resting his head on his shoulder. "Why don't we just go with the ones we saw back in London?" They were now thousands of miles away, in the admittedly very romantic Venice. The Italian store owner didn't even speak English; Draco had to use his wand to translate.

   "Because I am convinced we can find better ones. They were nice. They were _appropriate_." Draco said the last word like it burned his tongue.

   "I don't see what's wrong with appropriate. You like silver," Harry complained into his shoulder.

   Draco turned around, giving him a quick kiss. "I promise it'll be worth your while," he murmured, running a hand up his arm.

   "Sneaky bastard," Harry said fondly, running his thumb along his jawline.

   "Do you object?" Draco smirked, giving Harry's empty belt-loops a playful tug.

   Harry captured his lips again, pressing him up against the glass counter full of expensive jewelry. "No sir," Harry responded eagerly.

   Draco slipped his hand down even further, roughly cupping Harry's crotch. He let out a whimper when Draco pulled away. "After we finish and find the most _us_ rings in the whole world. Even if it takes searching every continent of it."

   "Unfair." The whine fell on deaf ears as Draco sauntered to the fireplace and passed the shocked-looking shop keeper and beckoned Harry with a crook of his finger.

******

   “For the love of Merlin, end it already. _Pick something_ ,” Harry pleaded.

   “I would if they weren’t all dreadful!”

   “Excuse me, gentlemen,” the woman at the counter said in a thick Hungarian accent. “We are going to be closing soon.”

   Harry gave Draco a drained look. His feet were tired and his patience was wearing dangerously thin.

   “I happen to know a place that stays open rather late into the night.” Draco put on an air of innocence, casually waving goodbye to the woman.

   Harry stopped dead in his tracks. “Oh, no. No, no, no. You did not drag me halfway around the planet only to make me go to ring shopping in Knockturn Alley.”

   “Nothing else will be open. Unless you want to try again tomorrow,” Draco grinned devilishly.

   “This… This was all part of your plan, wasn’t it?” Harry asked miserably.

   Draco put his arm around Harry’s shoulders. “Not originally. I was genuinely looking!” Harry narrowed his eyes behind his thick glasses. “One store. One last store.”

   “One,” Harry decided. He had been dragged from counter to counter all day, stopping only once for a quick dinner in Denmark. Harry was ready to go home, put his feet up, and curl up next to Draco. Also, he was still hoping on that ‘worth your while’ bit he was promised earlier.

   They walked to the fireplace and Harry went first, tossed the powder in and shouted “Knockturn Alley!”

   The fireplace transported him to a dark room, and it took his eyes a moment to adjust. He exited with ashes around his feet and heard Draco come in behind him. When Harry’s eyes adjusted to the light, he realized they were in yet another jewelry store. At least it wasn’t Borgin and Burkes. He could never fathom Draco’ affinity for that store, especially after all that had happened there. Either way, this place still gave him an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. His years as an Auror had done nothing to improve his constant sense of being in danger.

   Draco took his hand, leading him to the glass cases. The necklaces and bracelets were adorned with a strange rock Harry had never seen before.  It shimmered in the low light, reflecting the color in rainbows across the gem’s surface.

   “I see you’ve found our ammolite collection, a real eye you’ve got for luxury there,” the vendor said, seemingly appearing out of nowhere and leaning across the table. If he recognized Draco and Harry from the newspapers, he didn’t mention it. One of the shopkeepers in Scotland hadn’t been able to calm down, fawning over their every move. This one seemed older and at least more subtle in his tactics.

   “They’re beautiful,” Draco breathed, taking in the deep blues and emerald greens. It reminded him of Harry’s eyes. He moved to the ones set in silver, his eyes growing wide.

   Harry breathed a sigh of relief. Draco seemed to have finally found his love at first sight collection of rings. Harry happened to like them too, but he liked the idea of going home even more.

   “Would you like to see a few up close?”

   “Yes!” Draco said excitedly. His stormy eyes were alight, sweeping over the glittering stones. The shop keeper opened the glass case and brought out the rack of rings, allowing Draco to paw at them. He turned to his fiancée, practically atwitter. “Which one do you like?”

   It took Harry a moment to answer, suddenly remembering he was a part of this decision too. He reached out to one with a full rainbow running over the ammolite. Draco audibly inhaled.

   “Oh, _Harry_ ,” he whispered. The band was a brilliant silver, inlaid with diamonds on the side and the large circle of ammolite in the center.

   “Ah, Mr. Potter.” Of course, he knew who they were. He was smart not to mention it until then. “Wonderful choice. That is what’s known as a triplet, a geological wonder compressed under thousands of years of earth. It is a fossil of old.” Draco suppressed a noise of surprise.

   “I love it,” Draco declared, fishing in his pocket for his pouch of galleons.

   Harry put his hand on Draco’s arm to stop him. “Don’t worry, I’ve got it.”

   “Harry, honestly. It’s no problem,” he said smoothly.

   “We’ll split it.”

   “Here, try this one on, I’ll go fetch its sister ring,” the owner said carefully, walking to a darkened back room. It made Harry feel a little on edge, and for a second he was back in the war. A dark, sketchy-looking store with an elderly and knowledgeable man behind the counter, waiting for the right moment… He could see the man coming back, wand brandished and roaring spells out. Harry‘s hand moved to his pocket, searching for his own wand to defend himself against the madman, his pulse pounding in his ears. Maybe someone had paid him, or he was a straggler Death Eater the Ministry hadn’t rounded up.

   He could easily take the man down; Harry had noted his right leg had a limp. All he had to do was cast a stunning spell, maybe a Petrificus Totalus to disable him. Draco could probably run fast enough to go get help, but what if he was attacked in the alleyway? They should have never come here; they should have bought the rings in muggle London. He was going to have to stand his ground, use all of his Auror training to fight for his and Draco’s lives—

   “Harry,” Draco murmured, pushing a strand of hair behind his ear and returning him to reality like a splash of cold water. “You’re shaking, love. Is there anything I can do?” Draco always felt so helpless when Harry went back to that place, where he was lost in his own paranoia and horrible memories. Harry was plagued by nightmares after the war. Things had gotten better over time; having someone in bed next to him had helped… Sometimes Draco feared it wasn’t enough. It was on his list of permanent worries. Harry was too proud to ask for help most of the time, and Draco wouldn’t know what to do if he even wanted it. He wasn’t exactly the best at comforting people.

   “It’s fine,” Harry said, trying to shake it off. It wasn’t really working “Does the ring fit?” Harry attempted to return to normalcy.

   “Yes, and that’s all well and good, but—“

   “Here it is!” announced the man, returning with a matching band and limping back to the counter. “Is everything alright?”

   “Yes, yes it’s great,” Harry sputtered out, reaching for the ring. It fit like it had been designed for him. “See? Perfect.”

   Draco forced a smile. There was no point in causing a scene trying to pull information out of Harry like he was pulling teeth. “Perfect.”

   “I’ll draft up a receipt, then,” the old man grinned, making his way to the cash register. “And congratulations.”

   Draco hooked his arm around Harry’s, feeling the tension slowly trickle out of his shoulders. At least the episode hadn’t lasted too long. The worst was still when he had attacked the man who resembled a young Tom Riddle near the Southwark Cathedral when he was walking home from Ron and Hermione’s. At the very least, the man had been a muggle and didn’t notify the Prophet.

   Harry was so shaken up he didn’t even second-guess the absolutely ludicrous price on the rings. When he came into his inheritance, he had no idea that he’d lose the value of a galleon so quickly. The fact that Draco couldn’t save a knut to save his life didn’t help either. Harry had given quite a lot of it to charity, and to organizations fighting for equality in all senses of the world. Even so, he still had a massive sum of money in Gringotts. More than he’d ever be able to spend, even with his fiancée's help. Draco paid for Harry’s ring and vice versa, but both of their bank accounts took quite a hit. Harry felt a sense of dread, knowing that the whole wedding was probably going to be that way.

   Getting home was a blur for Harry, only remembering putting the rings in the box the shop owner had included in their purchase. He’d really have to look at that receipt when he was feeling better.

   “Harry, are you in there?” Draco questioned, grabbing his shoulders.

   “What? Yes, Draco, I’m fine.”

   “Then why do you keep looking at the wall like it’s got a secret message written on it?”

   “I’m just thinking,” Harry brushed him off.

   Draco moved to sit next to him on the bed. “Okay,” he murmured, putting an arm around him. Draco nuzzled his face in the slope of Harry’s neck, pressing a kiss into his skin. “Need something to take your mind off of it?” If they couldn’t talk about it, Draco was sure as hell that he would at least do _something_ to make him feel more at ease.

   “I would very much like that,” Harry said and tried not to show just how relieved he was that Draco wasn’t giving him the third degree. He definitely wasn’t in the mood to answer questions about something he was ashamed of even having experienced.

   Draco moved to straddle him, running his hands through that black, thick hair. Harry let out a happy little noise, wrapping his arms around his love and pulling him in for a kiss. Draco pumped kisses from his sweet, soft lips for what seemed like an eternity. He ran his tongue along the roof of his mouth, something he knew drove Harry wild.

   Harry’s iconic glasses were then quickly tossed aside, winding up on one nightstand or another as Draco pushed him into the mattress. Their hips ground together, needing the delicious friction. Draco slipped off his shirt easily, and was left wondering why Harry would bother to wear a button-down when he knew the fate of those shirts the second he bought them.

   As usual, Draco grabbed the center of the garment and tugged his hands in different directions, watching each button pop off one by one. “That was new,” Harry informed him as the little white buttons flew across their bedroom.

   “You’ll get over it,” Draco smirked, removing the now easily-disposable shirt from his shoulders.

   He proceeded to cover Harry’s throat in a necklace of kisses before moving down his sternum and playfully adding a few bites. Harry leaned in to every one of them, the small jolts of pressure sending signals directly to his cock. By the time Draco had gotten Harry’s pants off, he was panting with need.

   If Draco had been feeling a little more sadistic, he would have teased him and pushed his limits like he usually did. But he still wanted to make Harry happy after what had happened in the jewelry store. He looked down at Harry’s body, spread out in front of him like something out of a wet dream, and knew he wouldn’t be able to hold back anyway.

   Draco slowly started sliding off his trousers, ever the exhibitionist. He tossed them to the side of the bed without a care. His hand slid down the front of his boxers and met with his rock-hard cock. “Mm, Harry,” he groaned, tipping his head back and reveling in the sensation. When he finally slipped off his pants, Harry watched like his life depended on it.

   “Draco,” he moaned, “so gorgeous, need you.”

   The blonde’s own erection throbbed at the words. He knew what Harry was expecting, but Draco was always in favor of surprises and had a trick up his sleeve, since Harry liked watching so much. He cast a lubricating spell onto his fingers that he’d even begun to master wandlessly –since it often came in handy– and was rather pleased with himself for being able to do it in the heat of the moment.

   Harry spread his legs eagerly, and Draco watched in amusement, staying completely still. After a few seconds, Harry sat up on his elbows. “Are you planning on having a picnic over there?” Harry asked breathlessly.

   “Just needed to get your attention,” Draco said as if it were the most nonchalant thing in the world and slipped a lubricated finger inside himself.

   Harry made a noise about equivalent to a very eloquent ‘GUH’ and bolted right up. His eyes were glued to Draco, his mouth wide open. A whimper escaped him when Draco pushed in a second digit, fucking himself down on his own fingers. “Fuck, fuck, _fuck_.” Draco looked incredible, his body damp with sweat and opening himself up for Harry.

   “Going to ride you,” Draco panted, using his other lube-covered hand to slick Harry’s thick cock, thoroughly enjoying every noise that came out of him. He put in another finger, positioning himself just above Harry. When Draco felt he was ready –and when he couldn’t stand for Harry to not be inside him for a moment longer– he replaced his fingers with the head on Harry’s prick, his hands gripping tightly to his shoulders.

   Draco slowly took him in, moving his hips in small circles as he went down. Harry’s hands clung to his waist so tightly that it hurt. Draco would wear the bruises the next day like badges of honor. They both let out a groan when Draco pushed up and thrust back down again, Draco’s heat becoming almost overwhelming.

   Harry dug his nails in and Draco let out a hiss of pleasure. He continued to move up and down, creating a steady beat. “Fuck, Harry. You feel so unbelievable.” Harry had begun to thrust his hips up to meet Draco as he came back down, rubbing against that spot that made his toes curl under. In response, the Slytherin recaptured his lips and began to stroke his tongue with his own. He moaned into Draco’s mouth and shoved his hips up more frantically, giving it to him hard.

   They lost themselves in each other. Harry formed a fist around Draco’s neglected prick, pumping just as fast as their bodies were moving together. Draco felt an orgasm building within him, both quickly thrusting onto Harry’s cock and into his hand. “Close,” Harry warned, losing any sense of rhythm and railing into him. Draco let out a cry that would have woken the entire complex if it weren’t for the silencing spell on the room.

   With Harry’s name on his lips, Draco spilled his seed into his hand and all over their stomachs. When the climax hit he clenched around Harry and caused him to come with a shout. They both rode out the final waves of it, until they collapsed together back onto the bed.

   “That,” Harry panted, “that was incredible. You are incredible.” He moved his hands up Draco’s back to wrap around his shoulders, pinning Draco on top of him.

   “Any time,” Draco chuckled into his chest, and grabbed his wand out of his discarded trousers so he could cast a cleaning spell. Harry pulled out of him so he could move around more freely. As usual, Draco pulled up the covers around them and snuggled in close. One of the greatest shocks of Harry’s life had been how downright cuddly Draco was after sex; he took advantage of it as often as possible.

   The two stayed up most of the night talking. Not about anything important, it was simply whatever came to their minds. They avoided the subject of Harry’s panic in the jewelry store and Lucius’ reaction to the engagement, trying to keep their pillow talk light. After all, the part Draco loved the most about Saturdays was being able to sleep in the next day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Here’s a picture of what I thought the ring’s design would be like, by the way! http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m8luxgCE5V1qhomqeo1_500.jpg


	5. Save the Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone receives their invitations. Basically a collection of tiny snapshots into character's lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for all the activity this fic has been getting; I’m so grateful for the feedback. Also, I just realized this fic has a ton of side ships, so I hope you guys like it anyway! My headcanons for each character just happen to be extremely detailed when it comes to shipping. Also, no owls were harmed in the making of this chapter.

**Chapter 5: Save the Date**

   Soft light streamed in through the windows and cast sunbeams all over the duvet. Everything seemed like a normal Sunday morning, minus the fact that Harry awoke to the sound of owls hooting in his apartment. Never a good sign; especially when he realized nobody was next to him in the bed. Things seemed even more bizarre when he heard Draco yelling in the other room.

   “Winged beasts! Heel! Down!” he roared, echoing throughout the admittedly rather spacious flat. Harry sat up in bed, drawing the covers around himself.

   “Draco? Do you need help?” Harry asked loudly, dragging the sheets around him as he walked. It looked a little bit like a toga, but he wasn’t about to put pants on. By the time him and his newly fashioned Grecian attire reached the living room, he saw where all the bird noises had been coming from. His living room was filled with flying, squabbling barn owls of all colors and sizes. They were either perched on the couches or being chased down by Draco.  “Why is our flat suddenly an owlery?”

   His fiancée gave an exasperated sigh, as if it were supposed to be obvious. “I’m trying to send out invitations! I rented them, but these monsters aren’t cooperating,” Draco complained. Harry had to suppress a laugh. Ever since what happened with Buckbeak, he knew that Draco and animals didn’t exactly mix. In all honesty they were like oil and water. Draco even managed to maintain a fear of Crookshanks, and Ron never missed a chance to poke fun at him for it.

   “Here.” Harry walked over to the kitchen, grabbing a bag of owl treats from the counter and a plate from a cabinet. Harry crushed the treats into a fine dust and brought the plate to the living room. The veritable flock of owls gathered around the plate, pecking and pushing for a chance to get the food.

   “You are the owl whisperer,” Draco said in amazement and wrapped his arms around him. Harry happily kissed him, recognizing the cultural reference from the muggle television he’d bought for the house. He’d always assumed Draco was tuning out when they sat together and read with it buzzing in the background. They both happened to like the noise; it made their flat feel more like home. Since they both had gotten accustomed to bustle and noise in their jobs, and at Hogwarts, it was a welcome and sometimes necessary sound. Harry wondered what else Draco had been watching. “Want to see the invitations? I picked them up this morning.”

   “This morning? What time is it?”

   “It’s three in the afternoon.” Draco gave him a reproachful look despite the fact that his tone was innocent enough.

   “What? Why didn’t you wake me up?” Harry asked, nudging his nose into Draco’s neck.

   “You looked so peaceful, it was practically a crime,” Draco explained, compulsively fixing a strand of Harry’s askew hair. Nobody had bedhead quite like The Chosen One. “So, do you want to see the invitations or not?”

   “Sure,” Harry said. He sat down on their beige sofa, sitting back and watching as Draco produced a stack of ornate-looking stock paper invitations. Harry began to read out loud. “ _You are cordially invited to the wedding of Draco Lucius Malfoy and Harry James Potter, Saturday August 13 th at the Kensington Roof Gardens, located on 99 Kensington High Street, London. The event will be held at the Babylon Rooftop Garden at 5:00 and the reception will bed downstairs in the country club. Please return an RSVP to the sender’s address. The couple is registered at Twilfitt and Tatting's. Save the date!_” Harry reread the second-to-last sentence. “Wait, _are_ we registered there?”

   Draco smiled, putting his hands on Harry’s shoulders and giving them a gentle rub. “After we send out the invitations, yes.”

   Harry groaned in displeasure. “Shopping, again?” As much as he liked spending time with Draco, another day of storefront browsing would prove to be too much for him.

   “It’s not actually shopping! We just scan items we like and the people whose names are on these cards will buy things for us. It’s a genius system, hard to believe muggles came up with it.” Harry gave him a little shove. “Fine, fine. Either way, get a glass of water and take those sheets off. You have envelopes to lick.”

******

   Remus seated himself in his favorite chair in Grimmauld Place, leaning back with _A Farewell to_ _Arms_ in hand. He had a cup of tea in on the table next to him, his beautiful and entirely remodeled home around him, and his shaggy black dog at his feet. The dog also happened to be his husband, but the details of that were beside the point. The aroma of the green tea warmed their bones, and the house had changed drastically since they decided to make it into a home. They’d torn down almost all of the walls, ripped up the floorboards, and one night they threw a little party to ceremoniously burn all of the family heirlooms. It was a rather spectacular and blasphemous all at once. Finally, the house was rid of its Black influence and all trace of Walburga, her only surviving son left to do with it as he so pleased.

   Bellies full from a late lunch, they were entirely ready to laze the afternoon away. That was, of course, until a clumsy, brown barn owl smacked right into the front door. Padfoot lifted his head up, ears alert. “Want to get the door or should I?” Remus asked distantly, completely absorbed in his book.

   Padfoot gave an annoyed whimper and transformed back to his human form. “I’ll get it.” Sirius tied his bathrobe shut, walking over to the door. When he opened it, he looked down to find the owl had actually knocked itself out. “Poor thing,” Sirius murmured, gingerly picking it up and carrying it inside. “Remus! We have a man down!”

   “It’s an owl.”

   “How very observant of you, Mr. I Cannot Be Bothered Whilst Reading,” Sirius teased. He lowered the owl onto the kitchen counter, which got his husband’s attention.

   “We eat there, Sirius,” Remus reminded him, poking his head up from his book.

   He sighed dramatically. “I am saving this dejected animal that has so dutifully carried some poofy message for us. It smells like vanilla.”

   Remus figured the ‘we are poofs also’ point was moot. “Is it permanently injured?”

   “I think not. Nothing a little wing rest won’t fix,” Sirius said and stroked the owl’s head. Its eyes fluttered open, and he quickly started flapping around. “Hey! Bad owl, stay still. You’ll hurt yourself even more.” Sirius fished his wand out of his robe pocket and cast a healing spell. He wasn’t the best at them, but it seemed to work just fine for the bird.

   “Regular knight in furry armor,” Remus grinned.

   Sirius grabbed the message from its claw just as the disoriented owl flew back out the door. “And I don’t even get a ‘thank you’! Avians these days.” Sirius tore open the card with no regard for the time Harry had taken to seal it.

   “What does it say?” Remus asked. His curiosity was peaked.

   “You are never going to believe this,” Sirius laughed. “Our godson is marrying our nephew. Pretty sure that’s incest.”

   Remus smiled, knowing the happy news would have come eventually. “Incest? That worked just fine for your parents.” He had just enough time to duck before the invitation was whirled at his head.

******

   “Was that the sound of an owl landing, or am I going mad?” Neville asked, looking up to the roof of the greenhouse.

   “It could have been rogue Heliopath,” Luna suggested, making her way to a green glass panel. She cranked a lever and it opened the panel, allowing the owl to swoop inside. “Hm, it’s a carrier owl.”

   Neville poured the last drop of water into the plant he was attending to before walking to see what the owl had delivered for them. Luna offered the animal a piece of a nearby flower as a reward, and even the bird looked at her like she was a nutter. Either way, the owl was distracted to enough to allow Neville to remove the envelope from its foot.

   “Looks fancy,” Neville commented and turned it over in his hand. He reached for a pair of shears to open it.

   Luna rested her head on his back, reading over his shoulder. “Oh, that’s delightful,” she whispered, enraptured with what she was reading. “Harry is going to be a married man.”

   “Him and Malfoy are alright,” he replied, still having apprehensions of his own about the relationship. Neville knew he couldn’t blame Draco for something his aunt did. “Wait, is it even Malfoy now?”

   “They’ll probably hyphenate.”

   “Yeah, but in which order? Malfoy-Potter, Potter-Malfoy… I think I’m going to have to start calling him Draco.”

   Luna smiled to herself, walking back to the window to see the owl off. “You probably should. We have known him since Hogwarts.” Luna never held too much malice for the Slytherins; she knew what people were capable of when they were afraid. Her father had been a prime example.

   “At least he doesn’t act like he did back in Hogwarts. For the most part,” Neville mumbled. “But if Harry’s marrying him, then I trust he’s changed enough.”

   The blonde nodded in agreement. “Daddy will be happy. The Quibbler needs an exciting front-page story this week after the Nargles didn’t show up during the eclipse. I doubt The Prophet will do their nuptials justice.”

   “The Prophet hasn’t done _anything_ justice since it was founded,” Neville added, giving Luna a quick kiss before returning to his plants.

******

   Blaise let out an irritated sigh, reclining back into a puffy pink chair. “Pansy, you were promised to each other when you were _thirteen_. You didn’t even know he was gay then.”

   “But _still_. He’s getting married before I am! It’s not right,” Pansy complained, taking another sip of her pomegranate martini. The council of men before her had been called for drinks, foolishly forgetting the fact that when Pansy started to drink, she didn’t stop.

   “You don’t even have anyone to marry. Now tame that green monster of yours, it’s hardly becoming,” Theo quipped back.

   Pansy took another gulp before huffing. “I am not jealous. I am merely—“

   The drunken self-proclaimed Slytherin princess was cut off by the sound of something crashing into her bedroom wall. “Maybe it’s a suitor,” Greg teased.

   “Bugger off, Gregory,” she snapped. Most of Pansy Parkinson’s friendships were complicated and hate-driven affairs, but that was merely the way she showed affection. They were all thick as thieves beneath the cover of insults and feigned dislike for each other’s company. Pansy walked to the window and practically ripped the letter off of the owl, sending it flapping downwards. She didn’t stick around to see whether or not it hit the ground. Instead, she plopped herself back down on her fluffy pink bed and resumed her pity party. “Oh, fuck me.”

   “Not interested,” said Theo.

   “I’m spoken for,” said Greg.

   “Am I honestly the only straight, single man left on earth?” questioned Blaise.

   “Yeah, and I still wouldn’t do you,” Pansy snarked. “I was talking about the letter. It’s Draco’s fucking wedding invitation.”

   Theo scrambled for a look along with Gregory and Blaise, all of the former classmates now seated on Pansy’s obscenely stereotypically feminine bedspread. “Aw, look at our Draco. Getting married,” Theo cooed.

   “To _Potter_ ,” Pansy emphasized, blown away by how her friends seemed to forget that fact.

   “I dunno. Harry isn’t too bad. I mean, Draco likes him enough to marry him,” Greg said in Harry’s defense. It could have been a remaining urge to follow Draco’s every whim from school, but he didn’t really have an issue with someone that made his mate so happy.

   Theo shook his head in agreement. “You’re not even giving the bloke a chance, Pans.”

   “What the hell is wrong with you people? It’s Harry fucking Potter! The attention-whore of the Ministry who was a total twit back in school,” Pansy snarled. Somewhere, very deep under a jungle of general loathing and snippy comebacks, Pansy really did just want to protect Draco. They’d been through hell and high water together, and as they grew up she couldn’t help but fear they’d grow apart. He already came to visit less often because of his dates with Harry, or nights in, or whatever they were doing without her. It worried her that Draco was so invested in one person, when people had let him down so many times before. “Blaise, please tell me I’m not alone on this one.”

   “Pansy, do you remember what _we_ were like in school? Your opinion of someone shouldn’t rest on what they did in adolescence,” Blaise said calmly.

   She threw her hands up. “Is this Potter’s fanclub or something? You lot are impossible.” The room fell silent for a moment while gears turned in Pansy’s head. “Oh my Salazar.”

   “Uh-oh, she’s got an idea,” Greg warned.

   “I know what I’m going to do!” Pansy declared.

   “I have a terrible feeling about this,” Theo added.

   “I’m going to bring a date so wild, so obscene and out there, he’ll just _die_.”

   “That’s your big plan? Make a man uninterested in women jealous of you and some other guy?” Blaise questioned.

   “No,” Pansy said slowly, unable to believe she’d never thought of it before. “Me and some other girl.” She figured if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.

******

   Colin’s darkroom was his sanctuary. Entering and exiting felt like a religious experience. Photos and acetic acid were his bread and wine, and he worshipped there almost every day. It had been the first thing he installed in his flat when he bought it. Being a little strapped for galleons after leaving school, he’d built most of it with his own magic. It felt more personal that way. He’d even called Dennis to help him with creating the dim safelight. It was a Creevey masterpiece.

   Officially, he worked as a photographer for The Quibbler. Unofficially, Colin had shown at galleries across London and posted most of the non-magical photos on the muggle internet. Currently, he was developing black-and-white photos for his own use. He had some frames around the flat that needed filling, and enough free time to fill them. Most of the shots were of Diagon Alley, full of witches and wizards bustling and going about their days. Colin loved action shots, and some in the crowd had even stopped walking to smile at his camera.

   He hung the last photo up to dry when he heard the sound of an owl hooting. His own owl was out delivering photos to Xenophilius Lovegood, and wasn’t expected back until dusk. “Did I stay in here all day?” Colin thought out loud, carefully opening and closing the darkroom door behind him. He discovered the strange owl on his floor, staring up at him.

   “What’ve you got there?” he asked, calling the bird over. He carefully removed the invitation from his claw. “There we go. Fly back now,” Colin urged him. When the owl flew off, Colin sat down on his couch and read the stock paper—along with the special message attached. Draco and Harry wanted him to be their photographer as well as a guest, and Colin couldn’t stop smiling.

   Harry Potter had been his hero since he was a kid, and every hero needed a love interest. It was another interesting dimension that the love interest had come from an opposing side of the war. The whole ordeal made him feel bouncy and happy. He knew lots of people didn’t share his opinion on it, but he didn’t really care. So long as Harry was happy, he was happy. Harry had actually been his first crush as a kid, and the two of them had a good laugh about it afterwards. Nowadays they were great friends, and Harry always made a point of coming to every photo gallery where Colin was featured.

   “I love weddings. I’ve never photographed one before!” he said excitedly, his voice echoing in the flat. “Oh, hell,” Colin sighed. “I’m talking to myself again, aren’t I? I really need to get a cat… Or a boyfriend.”

******

   Seamus gave his boyfriend a trying look. “Dean, for the love of Merlin, tell me you’ll be done soon.”

   “Don’t rush perfection,” he joked. “Keep the same facial expression.” Seamus rolled his eyes. “I saw that.”

   “Can I at least get some food?” Seamus groaned.

   “Five more minutes,” Dean swore. “Such an impatient model.” He began to etch in the line of his jaw with the charcoal, finishing his chin. Seamus had been subjected to all the downsides of being Dean’s muse for a long time, being forced to sit in chairs in strange positions for hours, unable to go to the bathroom or scratch an itch. It was a tough life he lived.

   He was just starting to count down from five minutes when a black barn owl landed right in front of him. Well, landed might have been too graceful a word choice. “You expecting any letters?” Seamus asked, dropping his pose.

   “My mum and Jake are on holiday together, so I doubt it’s them,” Dean shrugged, undoing the string tying the letter to the animal’s talons.

   Seamus frowned, not looking forward to any mail from his parents. The Irish-Catholic faith wasn’t the most accepting, and if they’d sent any letters, they were howlers. “It could always be some adoring fan of yours,” Seamus suggested.

   “I doubt they’d use an envelope so… Intricate.” Dean used his wand to break the seal, reading the message out loud to Seamus.

   “Draco and Harry are finally tying the knot,” he grinned. “When are you proposing to me, Dean?”

   “An impatient boyfriend, too,” Dean laughed, reaching his hand across the table to cup Seamus’ face. “Do you want to get married?”

   “Eventually,” Seamus clarified. “So we can send out fancy invites and piss off some conservatives.”

   Dean pressed a kiss to his lips. “Mm, gotta love that. Now go sit back down and let me finish this drawing.” Seamus sighed and resumed his position.

******

   It was a typical Sunday at The Burrow, the ginger-crowned family and their significant others gathered around Molly’s home-cooking. The entire house smelled of her famous five-cheese casserole, and it was quickly starting to disappear off of the dinner table.

   “Bill, can you pass the pepper?” Ginny asked, trying to avoid another sneezing pepper incident by asking one of her more responsible siblings.

   “George has got it,” he informed her, and she knew all hope of peppering was lost.

   “George, no more putting prank products in the pepper,” Arthur reminded him, bustling about the kitchen. “Has anyone seen my briefcase? The leather one?”

   “Check the living room,” Percy suggested, standing to fork a sausage onto his plate.

   “Already checked,” Arthur said, eyes scanning the house.

   “What about by the door?” Charlie asked.

   Arthur frowned. “Not there either. Accio brief case!” From upstairs, the brown case sped down the stairs, clunking loudly on every step and into Arthur’s hand. “Now how did it get up there?” The noise level in the room was so loud nobody bothered to answer.

   “Sit down, Arthur, everyone, sit down. Eat,” Molly insisted, quieting the crowd. “We’ve gotten the most amazing owl from Harry.” Ron and Hermione shared a knowing look, but allowed Molly to continue. Molly took a pause for dramatic effect. “There’s a wedding in our future!”

   “No way!” Ginny gasped with excitement. “That’s great.” People had expected her to be bitter towards Harry after their eventual breakup, but she couldn’t find it in her. Harry quickly became like another brother to her, and she wanted him to be happy. While she didn’t entirely trust Draco with his heart, she didn’t want to object to what Harry wanted. “When is it?”

   “This August!” Molly replied excitedly, watching the conversational buzz in the room shift to the topic of Harry’s upcoming marriage.

   “I call being a groomsman!” George announced, making his choice very clear. “Our Harry needs a strong male influence for the bachelor party.”

   Ron laughed, giving his brother a playful shove. “Oh, don’t worry. I’m the best man and that night will be _unforgettable_.” Hermione gave him a concerned look. “For Harry,” he amended. “After all, it is his last night free of Malfoy in-laws.”

   “How long have you known?” Ginny wondered, hoping she wasn’t too late on Harry’s list of people to tell.

   “Just a few days,” Hermione assured her. “They needed to break it to Draco’s parents before the invitations were sent out.”

   Molly considered Harry to be one of her sons, and couldn’t have been happier. “I’ll RSVP right away for everyone. You’re all going,” she decided for them. As much as she had her apprehensions about Draco, he had accepted the bright green Christmas sweater embroidered with dragons that she’d knitted him last holiday season, and that was enough for her. She’d even caught him wearing it once at his and Harry’s flat.

   “Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Arthur confirmed.

******

   “What in the world is he thinking?” Lucius fumed.

   “I’m sure he’s _thinking_ that he would like his father to approve of his romantic relationship,” Narcissa responded, folding her arms over her chest. She’d gotten tired of his complaining about the couple about a year into their courtship, and now he was pushing it.

   Lucius cast his signature glare at the owl that had been unfortunate enough to be the one delivering the invitation to Malfoy Manor and watched as it sailed back to whence it came. “The papers will know soon,” he said, waving the invitation around in anger. “This will be on our reputation forever.”

   His wife had taken quite enough of this. “Our reputation? Do I need to remind you what our reputation was before Harry took the stand in court and saved us?”

   A wounded look immediately came over his face. Narcissa did her best to ignore it. “I do not need to be reminded of that, thank you,” he said, his voice like ice.

   “Lucius, please, talk to him about this. He’s our only child, and he’s in love.”

   He shot her another look. “Draco doesn’t know the repercussions of his actions.”

   “What would you have said if your parents disapproved of our marriage?” Narcissa asked, daring him to say something he’d regret.

   Lucius chose his words carefully. “I would have listened to their council, and heard out why they would disapprove.”

   “Sweetheart, Draco has most definitely heard you out,” Narcissa started, growing more upset as Lucius waved his hand dismissively. “He’s heard you every birthday, every Christmas, every anniversary, and every family dinner. I think it’s high time you start hearing him.”

   “I have been,” Lucius objected. Narcissa raised a perfectly trimmed eyebrow.

   “You two cannot even properly owl each other without starting a fight. I understand you don’t like Harry, but you’ve barely exchanged more than a few words with him every time you see him.”

   “So now you want me to talk to the Golden Boy?”

   “I want you to at least stop calling him that,” Narcissa hissed. “All I am saying is that our son is getting married, and you have the option of supporting him on his big day or hiding behind your prejudice.”

   Silence hung in the air for what seemed like a millennia. Lucius applied pressure to his temples, knowing he would have several more wrinkles by the time this whole wedding was over. What Narcissa said was logical, it made sense. But still, Lucius held fast to his hatred of all things muggle, muggleborn, and muggleborn sympathizer. It was the way he was raised and the way he thought he had raised Draco. Lucius was convinced that Draco would be happier with a man of his own birth, his own standing. All of Draco’s protesting against it hadn’t deterred Lucius, only made him more determined. Lucius wasn’t used to taking ‘no’ for an answer. He’d read somewhere that love was about compromise, but he had no idea it would make him feel this completely pathetic.

   “I’ll talk to him tomorrow,” Lucius promised.


	6. Surprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco has a rather bittersweet day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s been fun walking the line between angst and satire for Lucius and Draco’s relationship, but this chapter is a rough one for our lovely Slytherin boy. Also, these chapters keep on getting longer. Thanks again for all of the feedback. You are all very lovely and I appreciate it. :)

**Chapter 6: Surprise**

   “What the hell do I know about premature labor?” Draco asked, referring to the woman currently sitting in one of his hospital beds. Draco was St. Mungo’s go-to man for internal injuries and broken bones, but he’d delivered a baby once in his entire career. It was only because he was on the train when the woman had started giving birth, and it was pretty hard to say you weren’t a Healer when your face and job description was plastered on almost every newspaper in the wizarding world. It had been a rather scarring and eye-opening experience.

   “She requested you. I tried to wheel her to Healer Bordon, but she panicked and wouldn’t stop screaming,” Maggie explained.

   Draco raised an eyebrow. “So any nutter who starts calling my name out gets an appointment now?”

   “Oi! I am not in charge of your appointments, just getting the patients inside. She’s your problem now.” Maggie started walking off, leaving Draco with her medical chart. “Sorry!” she called, waving goodbye.

   “No you’re not!” Draco shouted down the hall. When her and her mess of curls rounded the corner, he was left to take care of whoever ‘Rosanne Stamm’ was, and her unborn child. Or so the medical chart said. Draco took a cleansing breath, trying to prepare himself for whatever kind of person demanded a specific Healer that they didn’t even know when they started having contractions eight months into their pregnancy. He opened the door leading to her room and found her sitting up attentively.

   “Hello there, Healer Malfoy. Hope I didn’t interrupt anything important.” Her sharp green eyes seemed to pierce right through him. The rest of her was plain and unassuming. She had a plump frame with a swollen belly and short, ratty blonde hair.

   “Hello, Mrs. Stamm. I actually have many other things to do and this isn’t my area of expertise, so if I could recommend another Healer for you—“

   “That won’t be necessary,” she insisted. “This will only take a little while.”

   Draco looked down the chart again, wondering how she could possibly predict how long it would take with no medical background marked on the paper, and took a seat in the chair beside her bed. “So it says here you began having contractions about an hour ago when you delivered yourself to the hospital… You are aware that apparation during a pregnancy is very dangerous, correct?”

   “Oh, I didn’t apparate. I was right outside the hospital when it happened! Isn’t that lucky?” She grinned like a Cheshire cat.

   “I suppose it is,” Draco murmured, wondering why an expectant mother would be so chipper about almost delivering early. “Have you been under a lot of stress lately?” He tried to rack his brain for all of the reasons a woman could go into premature labor, having learned it at the hospital at one point or another.

   “Yes!” Mrs. Stamm gasped dramatically. “I am so intensely drained from being a vessel for the miracle of life. Having a child is such a huge commitment! Healer Malfoy, what exactly do you think of commitments?”

   Draco certainly hadn’t learned if pregnancy hormones could make a woman mad, but he’d seen stranger things in the halls of St. Mungo’s. “Well, I would recommend bed rest for the stress. I don’t want to give you anything that could harm the baby right now. Try to drink some tea, put your feet up. I’ll also call a specialist to look for structural anomalies of your cervix, to make sure that stress wasn’t the only factor in the contractions. I could also run a test for infect—“

   “Healer Malfoy?” Mrs. Stamm interrupted. “You never answered the question.”

   “What?”

   “You never said exactly what you think of commitments. Are you afraid of them? Do you jump into them easily? Ooh, or do the memories of how your parents’ marriage fell apart during the war haunt you? How tragic, the boy who tries to escape his family’s legacy in love. Now speak up, darling, I did request you,” she reminded him.

   Draco’s suspicion was officially set off, and he went into damage-control mode. There was no doubt this woman was after dirt. “I believe that’s a personal matter of mine I’d not like to discuss. Mrs. Stamm, why exactly did you request me?”

   “I’ve seen you in The Prophet, of course! A brilliant Healer, and I can see how focused on your job you are. Why, how do you do it? Maintain a perfectly balanced life between work, family, friends, and romance? Does Harry ever get lonely? After all, you do seem to spend most of your time at work or with your friends, drinking… Does he have a problem with your drinking? Is that why he wants to marry you? To get you to finally stop your partying ways?”

   “What?” Draco said again. “This is wildly inappropriate. I’m going to have to reassign you to another Healer—“

   “Because you’re too busy with wedding plans? Oh, tsk, tsk. I guess one of those areas has to suffer. The Slytherin Prince can’t really have it all,” she lamented theatrically. “So which is it, your job or your personal life? What happens when kids come into the picture? Then you’ll _really_ be too busy to help your patients.

   “ _What_? No! I’m never even having children. You know what? You would be better off with a witch who specializes in pre-natal care,” Draco insisted. He didn’t know how she knew about the wedding, but he knew she couldn’t mean anything good. A combination of spooked and violated, Draco stood up to leave. That was when he noticed the Quick-Quotes Quill scratching away at a piece of parchment on the other side of the bed. “ _Skeeter_.”

   The mousy face of Rosanne Stamm began to bubble under the surface, and Draco drew his wand. Her originally dumpy body thinned and she lost her pregnant belly entirely. After the transformation was complete, Rita Skeeter stood from the hospital bed. She was clad only in a now comically large hospital gown that had fit whoever ‘Rosanne’ was, and her Quick-Quote Quill flew to her side. “Now that you know who I am, would you feel more comfortable answering questions? I just figured that with our history, you’d understand my need for disguise. Slytherin to Slytherin, I think we both can gain something from a little chat.”

   Draco laughed for lack of a better way to express his anger. “What in the world could I gain from talking to a lunatic like you? You’ve wasted hospital time and money,” he said in disbelief, using his wand to set fire to the parchment her quill was scribbling on. “You’ve _harassed_ Harry and me for years, relentlessly questioned us, and you just pretended to be pregnant so you could talk to me. The Loony Lovegoods write better articles than you, Rita. You’re all washed up.”

   Just as Draco finished his sentence, the overhead sprinklers activated. “Fire! Fire!” someone shouted in the hallway. Water poured down on both of their heads from above and an alarm started to sound.

   “Oh, honestly now—“ Draco started before he was cut off once again by Rita.

   “Yes! Yes! The fire is in here! Healer Malfoy has gone crazy!” she shrieked, running from the room. Draco had half a mind to send a hex chasing after her. All of his clothes were soaked, and she was no doubt going to twist the story into something terrible. Draco hoisted himself onto the bed Rita had left empty, getting a hand on the sprinkler that was spritzing water all over the room. When it didn’t seem to be twisting back into its locked position, Draco only had one option.

   “Glacius!” Draco yelled, swishing his wand and freezing the water in its tracks.

   Now cold, wet, and developing a headache from the alarm still going off, Draco felt like screaming. He knew he wasn’t at Hogwarts, and that he couldn’t throw a hissy fit in front of all the people that had gathered in front of the examination room to get a peek… But it didn’t stop him from wanting to. Instead, eerily calm, he stepped down from the bed and stamped out the last ember lingering on the burnt parchment. He stepped out into the hallway, watching the crowd that had gathered scatter like spiders to clear a path for him. The most terrifying time in all Malfoy freak-outs were the quiet before the storm. Harry knew it, and so did most people who knew Draco. It signaled complete and total meltdown that only needed a trigger to set it off.

   “Healer Malfoy!” came a voice from the opposite end of the corridor. Draco’s head snapped up to see that he had to be the unluckiest man alive. It was his boss, also known as the bane of his existence, Healer Augustus Pye. “What exactly is going on here?” the man questioned furiously, shaking one of his bloated fists.

   “It was a reporter!” Draco was officially set off. “It was Rita bloody fucking Skeeter! She must’ve used Polyjuice or something, she came in as a pregnant woman and started trying to interview me, that dirty, lying little—“

   “Malfoy, how many time have I told you not to attract attention to yourself?” Pye growled, the vein in his neck bulging out. “Your blood status and war history mean nothing here. I don’t want reporters coming in and chatting it up with you while you’re supposed to be treating patients.”

   “ _I know that,_ ” Draco assured him, still caught up in his anger. He was reminded of it almost every day. “I didn’t call her here! She requested me. That harpy will pay for this. I’ll bring her sorry arse down; she won’t even see it coming!”

   Pye shook his meaty head, “What I didn’t see coming was you quite literally _starting fires_.”

   “She was writing about me with her fucking quill! I stopped the sprinkler soon enough, it’s not like the whole floor is flooded! What the hell was I supposed to do? Sit there and take it?”

   “You do that well enough with Potter,” someone in the crowd mumbled, causing the whole conglomeration of patients and medi-wizards to burst out into laughter.

   Draco whirled around to face them and brandished his wand. “Who the fuck just said that? Do you want to say it to my face?!” He must’ve looked off his rocker. Soaked to undershirt, platinum hair so wet it stuck to his face, and his unicorn-core wand waving about at a crowd. He felt a hand on his shoulder.

   “I think you need to go home for the rest of the day,” Pye hissed in his ear. “And hopefully tomorrow you won’t be feeling so combative.”

   “Combative? I was just stalked in my own workplace by a psychopath who will do anything for a story about my personal life!” Draco didn’t even realize he was screaming until the crowd stopped murmuring and the only sound aside from potions being stirred down the hall was him.

   “Malfoy. _Leave_ ,” Pye snapped. “This is your final warning.”

   Draco let out a shudder of anger and gathered all the dignity he had left. He took off his white Healer’s robe and wrung it out, making sure to hit one of the few dry spots left on the floor, and stormed down the hallway. He could hear laughter behind him and Draco did his best to ignore it. He stamped all the way down to the employee locker-rooms, getting strange looks from every person that he passed by. The walk seemed to take ten times longer with wet socks, a fate Draco could really only wish on Rita Skeeter right now due to the severity of it. He had half a mind to peel them off right then and there in the lobby.

   When he finally got to the locker-room, Draco hurried to his own locker in the corner. He opened it with the spell he had designed for the lock and got his spare set of clothes out. Every drying spell he had ever learned slowly came back to him as he stripped down and tried to dry off. It left his usually pristine hair looking like a mess, but he would comb it out later. Still as disgruntled as ever, Draco redressed himself and dried the wet clothes so he could stuff them into the locker. He didn’t want to think about them ever again, much like the whole incident. His way of dealing with things happened to involve shoving them in a box and never visiting them again.

   Draco sat down on the bench in front of the employee lockers and buried his head in his hands. He stayed there for a little while, pounding pulse starting to fall back to normal. He would be in a foul mood for the rest of the day, but there was no use in panicking over it. As usual, he felt like calling Pansy. She was superb at insults and had a knack for cheering Draco up. Either that or a knack for fruity-tasting alcoholic beverages. Sometimes they were one in the same.

   Complaining at the Parkinson house seemed like the perfect course of action, and Draco left the locker-room with that in mind. He left out of the side of the hospital, which meant he had to pass through the employee mailroom first.

   “Healer Malfoy!” someone called, and Draco felt an almost unshakable urge to punch whoever it was right in the face. He’d never punched someone before in his life, but he imagined it felt satisfying. “Before you leave,” continued the mailroom woman from behind her tub of letters, “this just arrived for you.” She extended a greasy hand out to give him a letter addressed to him. Draco recognized the handwriting instantaneously.

   Draco mumbled a ‘thank you’ and took the letter, knowing Harry would be proud he used his niceties even in his current state of emotional agitation. As he used his wand to slice open the letter, he had an awful feeling things could get so, so much worse. A letter from his father usually made him feel uneasy, but at the moment it was the icing on his horrible day cake.

   “ _Dearest Draco_ ,” he read aloud as he exited the hospital. Usually he wouldn’t risk looking so deranged in public, but today was a special exception. “ _I wish to speak to you about your engagement..._ Blah, blah, blah… _The Manor’s wards are down for you to apparate in any time today_ …” Draco scanned down the parchment. “ _Sincerely, Father_.” The lack of a simple ‘Love,’ made him even more apprehensive about the whole thing.

   Even so, Draco had an obligation to his family. It was inescapable and always had been. He took another deep, steady breath and apparated.

******

   Narcissa had gone shopping for the day, insisting she couldn’t be there to mediate for them and that ‘a father and a son should be able to work things out without anyone else present’. Lucius would have normally agreed with her, if the ‘working things out’ bit didn’t entail that Harry Potter would soon be his son-in-law. He’d ordered Gerda to make them both fresh cups of chamomile tea and waited for Draco in the sitting room. The room had been redesigned in a rustic green, and Narcissa had decorated the rest of the room with floral accents. She had actually shopped at a muggle store to cut costs, but Lucius would never find out.

   Having Draco at the Manor twice in one week was an admirable feat. Usually he had a myriad of excuses to stay in his flat with Potter and only dropped in once a month with the Boy Hero at his side. Lucius cursed quietly, knowing he really needed to drop the nicknames if Draco was ever going to take his pleas seriously. He looked up at the painting of his own father hanging above the empty fireplace. They were selling it to a museum in a week, and then Lucius would only be able to see him behind glass and for a 5 galleon entrance fee. Lucius knew what his father would do if he were ever in his situation, having had the threat of disownment looming over his head ever since he knew what the word meant. But he was no Abraxas, and he never would be.

   Lucius was so absorbed in his thought that he didn’t hear Gerda bring Draco over until he sat down in the chair opposite from him. “Draco,” he said in surprise. “I wasn’t expecting you so soon.”

    “I left work early. It was a rather slow day,” Draco lied through his teeth.

   “That’s to be expected, you come into the business and the whole wizarding world is cured,” he said proudly. It really was no wonder Draco had developed an ego.

   Draco gave him a tense smile. “Right.”

   “Here, have some tea,” Lucius offered off of Gerda’s serving tray. He took a cup for himself and sipped in his favorite flavor.

   His son gracefully accepted a cup, but didn’t drink. “You said you wanted to talk?” Draco asked in his most guarded voice. His father was being suspiciously nice. He hardly trusted it.

   “Yes,” Lucius started slowly. “I wanted to talk to you about your involvement with Potter. It seems I have not made myself clear on what I want for you.”

   “Father, you’ve made it crystal clear.”

   “Then what do you think I want?” Lucius countered.

   Draco let out a huff. “For me to stop seeing him, to call off the engagement, to move on to someone else. Some ‘nice pureblood boy’.”

   “And do you know why I want that?” Lucius’ voice bordered dangerously on patronizing.

   “Because you hate him with every fibre of your being, you’ve made that _obvious_ ,” Draco scoffed.

   Lucius put down his cup of tea. “What exactly are you implying?”

   “That no matter how much I insist that I love him or I tell you that you need to trust me on this decision, you ignore everything I say,” Draco explained. He’d already been pushed to the edge that day, and Draco felt he had nowhere to go but down. “So you either hate him enough to completely disregard me, or you want me to be miserable. I’m going with the former because I cannot bring myself to go with the latter.”

   “How _dare_ you. I have done everything I could for you and this family. And how do you repay me? You shack up with a Potter and now you want to play house with him.”

   “I’m not playing at anything! Harry is a part of my life, father. You can’t pick and choose what you want to be involved in,” Draco responded, his voice rising. He was exhausted from the day, and over time had grown more exhausted of Lucius’ attitude towards Harry.

   “This family is a part of your life! You can’t forsake us to go run around with the first Gryffindor you have a crush on!”

   “I don’t have a _crush_ on him, father. I have a relationship with him! This isn’t some kid I run around with after school, I am an adult! I’ve shared my life with him,” Draco struggled. Lucius tried to get a word in but his son kept going. “I share a house with him, I share my meals with him, I share my bed with him– father, please stop looking at me like that.”

   “Draco, I am trying to speak to you.”

   “Well you have spoken to me. Again, and again, and _again_. I don’t agree with you now, I haven’t in the past, and I never will.”

   “The reason,” Lucius continued from his previous statement, “I don’t want you seeing Potter is because you deserve better. He has a dangerous job, he has got a fanatic following of paparazzi, and he was raised by _muggles_ … All I want is a good life for you, and that includes a good husband.”

   “I do have a good life,” Draco insisted. “I have a dangerous job, I have had a following of paparazzi since the war, and I was raised by… Well, that doesn’t matter.”

   “ _You_ were raised by the elite of pureblood society,” Lucius boasted for him.

   Draco held in a sigh. “And only one of those elite approve of the man I’m going to marry.”

   “Your mother puts too much trust in the boy.”

   “She trusts him because they’ve exchanged more than cold stares. Also, Harry is _not_ a boy.”

   “Draco!” Lucius exclaimed.

   He immediately realized his fumble. “I didn’t mean like that! I mean, that’s also true—“

   “Draco!”

   “I am marrying him, father! Haven’t you ever heard of try before you buy?” Draco couldn’t help but laugh. Here his father was trying to talk him out of marriage and all Draco could do was put nails in his own coffin.

   “ _Draco_! No, I have not,” Lucius said sternly.

   “Oh, yes, that’s why you and mother were married in December and I was born in June.”

   Slowly, a silence crept over the room.

   “Did you… Look at the calendar this morning?” Lucius said slowly.

   “No…” Draco trailed off, realizing what he was talking about. “We can’t have both forgotten. We can’t have.”

   “Gerda!” Lucius called. “Bring us the calendar!”

   “Oh, Salazar. You’ve got to be kidding me,” Draco laughed as he put his head in his hands.

   This talk hadn’t exactly gone as Lucius planned, and things were taking a turn for the downright embarrassing. Maybe males of the Malfoy family were never meant to interact normally with each other. When Gerda brought them the calendar, they both saw the date in bold, black ink. The silence lingered for a few moments longer as the reason why Narcissa had gone shopping finally made a little more sense. “Happy birthday, Draco,” Lucius said in astonishment.

   “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said again. But there it was, ‘June 5th’. “So you call me here to question my life choices on my birthday?”

   “I’m a concerned parent.”

   “I’m twenty-six years old.”

   “It wouldn’t matter if you were fifty. I’m still your father,” Lucius reminded him.

   “My father who _forgot about my birthday_ ,” Draco pointed out.

   “So did you!”

   “That’s different!” he insisted. “Oh, hell. That’s why Harry was acting so strange this morning. I think he plans on taking me out.”

   Lucius’ face hardened again at the mention of Potter. “He’s probably trying to show you off. You _are_ far above him in social standings.”

   “He doesn’t think like that,” Draco sighed, leaning back in the chair. “I’m twenty-six. Twenty-six! And you’re still stuck on treating me like a child who doesn’t know what’s in their best interest.”

   “I do not,” he said weakly, hating it when Draco was right. The room fell quiet again and Gerda shuffled back to the kitchen. “Fine,” Lucius said definitively.

   “’Fine’ what?”

   “Fine, you can marry him,” Lucius said bitterly.

   “I wasn’t asking for permission.”

   “I don’t like it, and I don’t like him,” he continued as if Draco hadn’t spoken. “But you’re… You’re right.” Draco’s jaw almost connected with the floor.

   “Could you get that on a recording? I don’t think a pensieve will do that memory justice,” Draco said excitedly.

   “No recordings. I meant that you are an adult. This is your decision and I cannot stop you… No matter how much I’d like to. Your mind is made up,” Lucius grumbled. “I will be at the wedding, offering to floo you home until the you walk down the aisle— if you want to walk down it.”

   “When,” Draco corrected.

   “And I will have divorce papers at the ready for you when you want them.”

   “If,” he corrected again. Draco let out a happy sigh. “I knew you’d come around.”

   “Consider it a birthday gift,” Lucius said grimly.

   “Wait. You didn’t get me a birthday gift?”

   “Oh, calm down, Draco. Your mother is shopping as we speak.”

   He couldn’t stop smiling. “So I get a gift _and_ you stop complaining about my marriage?”

   “I never said I’d stop complaining,” Lucius clarified. “But I won’t stop you.” Draco decided that was close enough for now. He cast a silent ‘Reparo’ on the teacup he had slammed down. “There is one condition, though.”

   Draco groaned, leaning back in his chair. He should have known he wasn’t out of the woods just yet. “Father…”

   “It’s rather simple,” Lucius downplayed. “While this family has taken a rather large blow from the Ministry regarding our financial situation, we do possess a great amount of wealth. On top of that, the estates across England, France, Belgium, and the beach house in Bermuda.”

   “I don’t see where this is going,” Draco admitted.

   “You need protection,” Lucius said.

   “Don’t worry, they provide that down by the clinic at St. Mungo’s.”

   “ _Draco_.”

   “You’re making it too easy!” he laughed, leaning back in the comfortable armchair. “Alright, I’ll stop. What exactly do I need?”

   “A prenuptial agreement,” Lucius stated.

   Draco sat in shocked silence for a moment. “Okay, this… This you have to be kidding about.”

   “Does it look like I’m joking?”

   “No,” Draco said quietly.

   Lucius leaned forward, putting his hand on Draco’s knee. “One day, your mother and I won’t be around anymore and all of the family fortune will be yours. If this marriage somehow lasts that long, then it will be yours and his. I am trying to keep your future safe.”

   “Harry would never try to take any of the money.” Draco frowned, unable to imagine a situation where his fiancée would ever even dream of using galleons as a weapon the way that the rest of Draco’s family did. “He’s not some gold digger!”

   “Wouldn’t you rather be protected under the law if anything should happen?” Lucius said carefully.

   “That’s practically insulting,” Draco huffed. “I’m not going to accuse him of being a thief in the future and then marry him.”

   “If he really does love you, and he really never planned on taking any money, then what does it matter? It’s just another paper to sign, then,” Lucius manipulated. “Potter can secure his assets in the agreement as well.”

   “I don’t know…”

   Lucius had spun himself a clever little web. In the end, everything he did was to benefit his family, but his ‘means to an end’ Slytherin values hadn’t left him after school had ended. “It would be securing both of your financial situations,” Lucius explained simply.

   Suddenly, his view of the marriage had shifted. Draco knew the legal benefits of being married; he just never considered them a primary reason to _get_ married. With Lucius’ insistence on the legal side of things, and Rita’s comment about having children… Things felt far, far too real for him. He wanted to go back to Twilfitt and Tattings, where he and Harry had spent the afternoon joking over pots, pans, and appliances. They’d put all sorts of crazy things on their registry, no doubt confusing everyone who went shopping there for wedding gifts. Harry had even scanned a pair of rooster salt-and-pepper shakers, saying he knew how Draco ‘had never turned down a chance to eat cock’. Draco had laughed so hard his sides hurt. “I’ll talk to him about it,” Draco murmured, staring into his teacup.

   “Good,” Lucius said, sitting back in his chair and leaving a warm handprint on Draco’s knee.

******

   By the time Draco made it to the stoop of his flat, he couldn’t stop twirling his engagement ring over what his father had said. It had brought him a cold splash of reality to knock him out of his hazy post-engagement bliss. Another splash of reality hit him when he saw Harry standing on the front steps.

   “Hey there,” Harry greeted him, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek.

   “Come here often?” Draco joked.

   Harry laughed, taking his hand.

   “No, seriously, what are you doing outside?”

   “Just… Waiting,” Harry said innocently.

   “Oh, fuck, what’ve you done? Locked yourself out again?”

   Harry rolled his eyes. “That was _one time_. And I haven’t done anything! Can’t I just wait for you?” Draco gave him a _look_. “Rough Monday?”

   “You have no idea.”

   “Come on, let’s go upstairs.”

   Draco was still suspicious, but he really wasn’t in the mood for any more shocking revelations. “Okay,” he smiled, happy to be home. He let Harry lead him to the elevator and rode it up to the seventh floor. Only two other couples lived on their floor, the seventh floor holding the largest apartments in the whole complex. Draco caught Harry trying to repress a grin as he led him to the door. Now he was really suspicious.

   “So, you love me, right?” Harry asked carefully.

   “Of course…” Draco was officially worried.

   “Keep that in mind.” Harry turned the key in the lock, opening their front door into the hall. They stepped into their flat and for some reason, into total darkness. Draco had about a millisecond to stop what he believed was about to happen.

   “Harry James Potter if this is a surprise party, I am going to murder you in your sleep.”

   Harry gave him a malevolent look. “Do you really think I would throw you a surprise party? You hate surprises.”

   “It’s been a strange day,” Draco admitted.

   “Your friends wanted to, but I said you were too busy. Now we have the evening to ourselves, and they dropped off their gifts.” He grinned devilishly.

   “You know what I said about loving you earlier? Double that.”

   “There is one thing I wanted to show you, though. The reason I was waiting at the doorstep. I wanted to make sure you didn’t walk into the flat and see it before I finished,” Harry explained. It could have been a nest full of blast-ended skrewts at that point; Draco just desperately wanted to see what it was so he could go to bed.

   To his surprise, Harry pulled out his wand and touched it to the hardwood floor. Immediately, it lit a path of glowing petals to their bedroom. Candles along the side of the path lit their way and he could see the glow of candles coming from their open bedroom door. Next to the path was a table set for two, with steaming Italian dishes waiting for them. They even had a plate of spaghetti like that muggle movie about the dogs Harry had made him watch. “Oh, Harry.”

   “It’s cheesy, right? I knew you’d think it was cheesy,” he said dejectedly.

   “No, no it’s not.” Draco needed a touch of Harry’s hopeless romantic side after a day like his. He enveloped him in a hug and kiss. “I love it.”

   “Happy birthday, Draco.”

   “So, since I’m the birthday boy, after dinner… Do I get to see where the path leads us?” Draco asked with a mock- naiveté.

   “Definitely,” Harry said, walking over to the kitchen and pulling out Draco’s chair for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not going to lie, I wrote this whole thing with ‘Gold Digger’ by Kanye West in the background. “IF YOU AIN’T NO PUNK, HOLLA WE WANT PRENUP! WE WANT PRENUP, YEAH!”


	7. Family Tree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco and Harry have very separate days, and maybe some very separate views.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all of the views! This is the most popular a fic of mine has been. I’m really flattered that you all like my words. Also, it was fun looking up what songs were on the top 100 chart in 2006, it’s such a blast from the past.

**Chapter 7: Family Tree**

   Draco was completely unused to waking up without the sound of an alarm blaring in his ear on weekdays. It was a pleasant surprise, especially with Harry still wrapped up in his arms. He felt warm and welcoming, like home. His skin radiated heat and with it came an unstoppable energy that Draco swore he could reach out and touch. It was the essence of Harry Potter, and it was sweet. It could have been his magic, or some kind of aura that muggles were always on about, but Draco could feel it when he walked into a room. He knew where Harry was like they were tied together with string, and all he had to do was give it a little tug to know his Harry was there.

   Even before they were together, Harry always had that strange magnetic pull about him. Draco could tell when he walked into potions class whether he was there or off causing trouble somewhere else. He had felt it the night he saved Harry’s life on his operating table. Draco couldn’t bear to let that fire of his be snubbed out. He would never say it out loud, mostly because he didn’t need anyone knowing what a sentimental git he was, but Draco had a hunch that his fiancée felt it too.

   His mind immediately went back to the night before. The amazing food, the even better sex… Harry spoiled him. After Draco had made love to him for the second time that night, Harry gave him his present. It was a new silver telescope, so he could see his constellation at night. Draco had immediately run to their windowsill and sat on the edge, pointing it towards the sky. And there Draco was in the sky, sailing high overhead. It was visible year-round, but hung highest and shone brightest in the sweltering summer months. Harry had rested his head on Draco’s shoulder, gazing up at the sky. The constellation of stars was blazing in its full glory, stretching across the midnight black. ‘You’re looking good, love’.

   Overall, it had been a rather unforgettable birthday. Draco dreaded the idea of going back to work and facing whatever punishment Pye had cooked up for him, but Harry had managed to improve that significantly last night.

   “Morning,” Harry murmured as he stretched his arms out, nuzzling closer to Draco beneath the covers and bringing the memories to life.

   “Morning.” Draco gave him a kiss on the nose, pressing their bare chests together.

   Harry smiled lazily. “What are you doing up so early?”

   “Just thinking,” he whispered, tucking a strand of hair behind Harry’s ear.

   “What about?”

   “You, you prat,” Draco laughed, nudging their foreheads together.

   “Good to hear,” Harry remarked. He slung his leg around Draco’s waist, allowing him to feel his morning erection. “I had a dream about you.”

   “My little trollop,” Draco teased. “What was it about?”

   “We were back in Hogwarts. You found this room in the dungeons, except it was outside, and it was like this park… This park in the middle of the castle. There were blue lights everywhere, all of the flowers were blue, and it was sort of strange. But then you took me into the middle of the park and you pushed me down onto the grass, which was also blue, and you shagged me.” Harry told the story leisurely as Draco’s hand moved up his thigh.

   “I’m not so sure what all the blue symbolism is in dreams, I didn’t pay much attention to anything out of Trelawney’s mouth… But I do have a prediction,” Draco said as he flipped Harry onto his back, hooking the brunette’s legs around him. Harry happily gripped onto his shoulders and licked his lips.

   “That we’re going to walk outside and see nothing but blue grass?” he asked coyly. He shifted his hips up to meet Draco’s.

   “That I’m going to shag you,” Draco growled and then shut them both up with a kiss.

   Harry moaned into his mouth, dragging his nails down Draco’s back. Draco loved when he was like this, submissive and malleable in the morning. He was so eager to fit any shape Draco made.

   Draco reached for the bottle of lubricant off of the wooden nightstand; unable to take his mouth off of Harry’s to cast a spell. It opened with a click as he spread the salve over his fingers. Harry was still open and a little bit sore from the night before, so Draco had no problem pushing in two fingers at once. Harry groaned loudly, shamelessly rutting back onto them. Draco’s fingers scissored open and he added a third. “So tight,” he gasped. Harry loved being at Draco’s mercy, hearing his voice as he dominated him.

   “I want you inside me,” Harry whimpered. Draco covered his cock in the lube, ready to push into him when their alarm went off.

   Harry really, really regretted making the alarm tone a muggle radio station when ‘Hips Don’t Lie’ sounded loud and clear through the bedroom. He could have laughed out loud. “I am not screwing you to some Sanira song,” Draco said petulantly.

   “Her name is Shakira.”

   “Does it matter? Muggle music makes no sense. Hips cannot speak and cannot lie, or tell the truth... I once treated a man with a talking foot at St. Mungo’s, though,” Draco pondered.

   “Is now really the time to be talking about that?” Harry was almost shaking with need, craving the friction he’d come to know so well. Draco gave him a trying look. “Fine.” Harry gave in and reached over and hit the snooze button on the alarm. “Happy?”

   “Elated,” Draco announced as he thrust his shaft inside of his quivering hole. Harry arched his back and let out a noise of surprise; it took him a few seconds to catch up to Draco’s pace. The blonde covered Harry’s neck in kisses, creating paths upwards so he could gently nibble on Harry’s earlobe. Draco never thought he’d be the type to whisper sweet nothings, but there he was. Maybe he really was going mad.

   Harry welcomed the delicious stretching, rocking himself along with Draco’s thrusts. He felt so open, so debauched. Harry was going to be feeling Draco inside of him for the rest of the day, he knew that much. “Draco, yes, that’s it,” he cried out as his eyes fluttered shut. His cock pulsed in between them and Harry thought he might scream when Draco began to rub the underside. Draco’s hand moved faster and faster with each breath they shared.

   “Harry,” he groaned before kissing him savagely. It was all tongue and teeth like nothing else mattered.

   Every one of Harry’s senses was absorbing Draco, Draco, Draco. His eyes opened to take in the look of pure determination on Draco’s face. He heard his cries and the slap of their skin echoing in the room. He inhaled his scent, vanilla, mulberry, and mid-coital sweat. He ran his tongue along Draco’s and tasted him. Under his fingertips he could feel his taut skin. It made him feel alive.

   “I’m going to make you come,” Draco vowed breathily, using the hand that wasn’t stroking Harry’s cock to grab his balls. Harry let out a strangled shout and felt the heat splash out of him. Draco Malfoy always kept his promises. Mostly because he made so very few of them.

   Draco came only seconds later, filling Harry. No sooner had the two fell back onto the bed than the snooze wore off. ‘A Moment Like This’ by Leona Lewis tore through their bedroom and the two crumpled into laughter.

   “How romantic,” Draco snorted.

   “Maybe it’s fate,” Harry joked. Another laugh bubbled up in Draco, and he pressed his lips into Harry’s neck.

   “Or maybe you need to change the alarm tone.”

   “We would be missing out on all kinds of poorly timed music,” he pointed out.

   Draco rolled his eyes. He kissed him again and gently eased his limp prick out of him, his breath ghosting over Harry’s skin. Only then did Draco realize he hadn’t even brought up his father’s demands last night. “Do you know when you’re getting home tonight?” he asked as he settled in next to Harry.

   “I’m probably going to be late, working on that museum case. Why?” Harry hoped that he wouldn’t have any more invitations to send or color schemes to look over.

   “Just wondering,” Draco shrugged off. It’d probably be best to break the news to him when they had more time. “Come on, let’s get dressed.”

******

   Ron stood in the middle of the dinosaur exhibit, surrounded by fossils and fully reconstructed skeletons of beasts long dead. His black Auror robes billowed outwards as he turned in a circle, taking in the whole room. The marble walls stood tall, and the room echoed with magically recorded dinosaur noises. “There,” he said after coming to a halt, pointing towards a vent.

   “Looks like.” Harry walked over to the vent next to the T-Rex, noticing the burn marks around the screws. “And nothing is gone, like the other ones?”

   “I talked to the curator and he said everything was accounted for.”

   “That’s bizarre,” Harry murmured. He traced his wand around the burn marks and tried to pick up what spell they used.

   Ron didn’t like it one bit. Thieves that were that reckless would escalate, he felt sure of it. Then again, he wasn’t sure if they were technically thieves or not.  Trespassers with no sense of monetary value, maybe. “These guys are mental. Any of these bones would’ve gone for thousands of muggle coins.”

   Harry felt like he was fumbling in the dark. The hairs they’d left hadn’t matched anything in their systems and the robes hadn’t been anything distinctive enough to get an idea of what the suspects did. “Maybe they don’t need the money.”

   “Yeah, but it wouldn’t hurt to have more,” Ron laughed. Harry nodded as if he knew what an economic trouble actually was.

   They meandered around the room a little more, but the Aurors-in-training that had shown up before them had done a pretty good job of cataloging evidence. “Okay,” Harry started, taking a seat on a bench in front of the stegosauruses. He winced as he sat down and quickly regretted it, but he tried his best not to show it. “First it’s a small heritage museum, then an art museum, and now it’s a pre-history museum. This is the first wizarding one, though… It had to be a lot harder to break into. If they’re going by increasing value, we should have Aurors around the History of Magic Museum,” Harry said with determination. The artifacts in there were far too powerful and of such an ancient magic that the only place they could safely be was behind thick layers of charmed plexiglass.

   Harry stood again, thinking of a subtle way to cast a numbing spell and hoping Ron didn’t notice. “At least their system is state-of-the-art and all that. Nobody’s ever broken in,” Ron replied.

   “Nobody had ever broken out of Azkaban until Sirius,” Harry reminded him.

   “I’ll owl Kingsley about it.” Ron walked out of the room to send the message and Harry followed leisurely. While his best mate hurried outside, he found himself in the entrance hall. Draco loved museums, absorbing all the art and history like a sponge. They usually just made Harry’s feet hurt. He wandered over to the news stand in the front to check what issue of The Quibbler they had, but The Prophet immediately caught his eyes.

   ‘ _Harry Potter’s Groomzilla Attacks Reporter! Read the details on page 3 of Rita Skeeter’s terrifying ordeal’._ He felt his stomach sink. The Prophet always printed some terrible lies, but this was extreme. Attacking someone could classify as an assault, no matter how untrue it was, and he didn’t want any Aurors going after Draco about it. While Harry himself had understood that Draco was forced into being a Death Eater, his coworkers were notorious for giving those who used to associate with Voldemort a hard time.

   Harry had half a mind to buy all the copies up. “What a load of bullshit,” he muttered, picking up the paper. According to the report, Rita had ‘ _gone up to her old friend, Draco Malfoy, only to find him crushed by the stress of a wedding! Apparently, the world’s most controversial wizard power couple is headed towards the altar. She tried desperately to help him, but he wound up shooting a dangerous fire spell at Ms. Rita Skeeter, and her iconic Quick-Quotes Quill suffered a great deal of damage. No comments from his fiancée, the famed Harry Potter, have been submitted yet_ ’. “Damn right they haven’t been.”

   “I sent the letter to Kingsley. Knowing him, he’ll give you whatever you want. Are you talking to yourself again?” Ron asked cheekily.

   “Hm?” Harry turned around, paper in hand.

   “The Prophet? Really?”

   “There’s an article in here about Draco and my engagement,” Harry explained. “It’s nothing but a bunch of things Rita Skeeter made up. It says she went to visit Draco at work and he started screaming about, and I quote, ‘ _how he was leading an inappropriate life and would never be having children_ ’. What does that even mean?”

   Ron gave him a friendly clap on the shoulder. “Don’t let it bother you, nobody takes that seriously.” Harry still didn’t like the idea of Skeeter stalking his husband-to-be. “Seriously, Harry, stop looking so worried about it. Ever since Skeeter wrote that book about Snape, nobody has taken her seriously.”

   “I know,” Harry admitted. The counterfeit exposé had been pulled from shelves when photographic evidence came out that disproved about half of the witch’s stories. Harry and Luna’s research may or may not have been behind it. “This is beyond her usual lies, though. Draco and I haven’t really talked about children; I don’t know why he’d bring it up to her.”

   “You’re marrying him and you haven’t talked about having kids?” Ron asked incredulously.

   “Yeah,” Harry said defensively, believing that was an entirely normal thing. “I mean, I always thought we could have that talk in a few years. It’s not like there’s a shortage of kids in need of adoption.”

   Ron looked at him like he had sprouted a third head. “How do you even know he wants to adopt if you haven’t talked to him about it? Doesn’t the Malfoy family need a blood heir?”

   “That’s probably what his parents think. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind adopting in a few years. It’s not like you and Hermione are talking about kids now.”

   Ron cleared his throat, trying to avoid eye-contact.

   “Merlin’s beard. Ron, are you and Hermione trying to get pregnant?”

   “No! She’s at too good of a place in her job right now to have a kid and go on maternity leave. We have been talking, though. About after her promotion.” Ron sounded hopeful. “But we did talk about it before we got married.” He shoved his hands in the pockets of his Auror robe.

   Harry suddenly felt out of the loop. Not only with his own relationship, but with Ron and Hermione’s. He’d accepted a long time ago that there would be things that they would share with each other and not him, but he at least imagined Hermione would bring the subject up over tea. “Oh,” he said for lack of a better thing to say.

   “Harry… Can you really imagine Malfoy as the fathering type?”

   “Yes,” he countered. It got under his skin that Ron still called Draco by his last name, but that wasn’t the concerning part of the question. “He’s great with kids!” Harry had no idea if that was true or not. He just assumed that some of his patients at St. Mungo’s had been under the age of eighteen at some point, and nobody had complained…

   “Er, okay. “

   “Kids just love him. Seriously. He’s even helped Remus with first years before.” Harry didn’t make a habit of lying to Ron, but he really needed his best mate’s support right now. That, and he was concerned that him and Draco had pretty different views on the subject. “Honestly, the conversation hasn’t come up because we’re on the same page. Always have been.”

   “Sorry,” Ron mumbled, giving him a wary look. He certainly hadn’t been expecting that, if he even believed it.

   “Want to go see if Kingsley replied?” Harry desperately needed a subject change.

   “Sure.”

******

   Draco stretched out on the soft brown couch of number twelve Grimmauld Place. “Okay, so if Arcturus married a Macmillan, am I technically related to that berk Ernie?”

   “If you think too hard about our family tree, your pretty little head will explode,” Sirius said casually, bringing his nail-clipper down on an unsuspecting toenail.

   “No, seriously, Theo went out with him a few times. I need to know.”

   “Chances are whoever Nott ends up with is probably going to be related to you. Most wizards are.” Sirius moved onto the next toe.

   Draco laughed, because it was horribly true. “Really, though! Arcturus and the Macmillan girl had your father and your uncle, but does that translate over to my mother’s side?”

   “Hell if I know. Remus and I burned the tapestry when we moved in for good.” Another toenail fell victim to his clipper and almost hit Draco in the eye.

   “You’re disgusting,” Draco observed, brushing his face off to make sure nothing had marred his perfect complexion.

   “And you’re my favorite niece,” Sirius grinned.

   “I’m your only _nephew_. And technically my mother and you are first cousins, so I’m your grand-first-child-cousin... Something.”

   “What did I tell you about the family tree?” Sirius chastised. “You’re my niece.” His teasing was innocent enough, and Draco felt a strange sense of camaraderie with the man. Sirius understood the pressures of being a pureblood son and openly flouted them. It was almost inspirational. Another toenail went flying.

   The most repulsive things in the world to Draco were people’s nails. The only time in the world that he was okay with them was when Harry was dragging them down his back and leaving marks. Like he had that morning. “Is that really necessary?”

   “My house, my nails. You’re the one who popped in unannounced,” Sirius pointed out.

   “Only because Harry’s still at work, chasing down criminals or whatever,” Draco said. He was glad Harry loved his job, but it was dangerous and time-consuming. “You’re my plan B, _Auntie_.”

   Sirius laughed. “Point taken.” It was rather interesting to Sirius that he had a relative who could take what he dished out and send it right back at him. At first the two had been at odds over the way they were raised, but found themselves at an understanding. Gay purebloods needed all the help they could get, and Sirius felt compelled to protect his ‘niece’ from his father’s corruption on the topic of muggles and muggleborns. He made a point of taking Draco out to as many muggle-run restaurants, stores, and bars that he could. “Do you plan on staying for dinner? I can’t be arsed to cook but there’s an amazing Indian place that delivers around here.”

   “Sure,” Draco sighed. Harry had owled him that he wouldn’t be home until late, he was patrolling some museum until ten at night. At least he was getting paid overtime. He guessed their talk could wait another day. Hopefully his father wasn’t expecting an immediate response or had called the lawyers up yet. Nevertheless, he even felt paranoid over the wording Harry had used in his letter, like he had something he needed to get off of his chest, too. Draco decided someone really should pay him to worry like he did. “Sirius.”

   “What?”

   “Ugh, never mind. It’s stupid question.”

   “I knew that the second you opened your mouth, Draco. What is it?”

   Draco frowned and turned to face his sort-of uncle. “Promise you won’t laugh?”

   “I make no promises about my laughter.”

   “Fine,” Draco huffed. He knew Sirius’ advice usually came at a price. “It’s just— my father.”

   “Oh Merlin. What’s dear old Lucius done now?” Sirius yawned.

   “It’s not what he’s done; it’s what he wants me to do.”

  Sirius put down his nail clippers. “You can’t let him make your decisions for you, Draco. Lucius can hold whatever he wants over your head, but he’s all talk. He has no other heirs. If you want to marry Harry, then go ahead and do it. Hm, ‘marry Harry’. That rhymes.”

   Draco opened his mouth to respond when a key turned in the front door. Remus entered with a stack of Defense Against the Dark Arts tests in hand. “Hello,” he greeted them both, a little surprised that Draco Malfoy was lying on their couch. Then again, he was always coming home to surprises being married to Sirius. He walked over to his husband and greeted him with a kiss, running a hand through his black hair.

   “Hello Moony, our niece is staying for dinner.”

   “ _Nephew_.”

   “Will your betrothed be joining us?” Remus had said from day one of Draco and Harry’s friendship that the two were either doomed to kill each other or shag each other, and he was glad they chose the latter.

   “He’s busy,” Draco complained.

   Remus took a seat next to Sirius on the loveseat. “In that case,” the lycanthrope grinned, setting the ungraded papers down on the coffee table in front of them, “you’re going to have to work for your dinner. Grab some red ink and a quill.”

   Draco groaned, burying his head in a tastefully placed pillow.

******

   When Harry arrived at the front door of his flat, it was much later than ten. He entered as quietly as he could; hoping Draco had been able to nod off to sleep without worrying too much. After locking the door behind him, he took off his heavy regulation Auror boots. The patrol had been entirely fruitless, only resulting in tried Aurors and an impatient Kingsley. Harry had bid Ron a ‘goodnight’ and ignored the look he gave him as he walked away.

   Ron wanted Harry to be happy, just not with someone who used to make them all so miserable. He supported his best mate the only way he knew how in the situation: half-hearted advice and brotherly pats on the back. Harry shed his robes and coat, walking to the bedroom with his mind buzzing with thoughts. It felt like the wedding had put his head in a hurricane, and he couldn’t reach out and hold on to very many truths to keep him grounded. There was one, though.

   It was the blonde man lying asleep in their bed that kept him grounded. Harry loved him, and that was enough. It always had been enough. He stripped down to his pants and placed his glasses and wand on the bedside table. Harry crawled into bed next to him carefully as to not wake him. When he was securely under the covers, he pressed a kiss to Draco’s pale shoulder and drifted off.


	8. Deal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco deals with Pansy, Pansy deals with reality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, so happy that people are reading this. Every time I look at the number of views I swoon a little.

**Chapter 8: Deal**

   Draco cursed the day Augustus Pye was born. He cursed Pye’s parents, the day he was born, his siblings, his extended family, his trophy wife, his pets, and his household ferns. When Draco ran out of things to curse, he was sorely disappointed. The punishment for his outburst wasn’t limited to the wildly embarrassing Daily Prophet article or the laughter in people’s eyes when they saw him. Augustus had taken things a step further.

   “I swear, my left eye is _bigger_ than my right eye,” the man yelled, pointing furiously at his entirely normal-looking eye.

   “Sir, there is nothing medically awry with your eye. I’ve run _three_ tests for abnormalities.” Draco wondered if he should run a test on his brain activity.

   “Can’t you see it?” the man demanded. “It’s gigantic! Way bigger than it was last night.”

   “Maybe that’s just the way your face looks,” Draco suggested. He had been condemned to clinic duty. He got every walk-in who was of the lowest possible priority.

   An offended look came over the man’s apparently enlarged face and he leaned forward on the slab of cushion made for patients. “Why, I never!”

   “Never looked in a mirror?”

   “I am not here to be insulted!” he fumed, rocketing up and shooting for the door.

   “Don’t forget to pay the consultation fee!” Draco chirped after him. The absolute last thing he needed was Pye riding him over the hospital losing money. Every nerve in his body was frazzled since the moment he woke up in the morning. Harry had gotten in at some ungodly hour and slept in late because of his taking a later shift for the string of museum non-robberies or whatever the hell they were. Cascada had woken Draco up early and alone, and he nearly hexed the alarm clock into oblivion.

   Draco walked into the waiting room and looked out at the veritable sea of barely-sick witches and wizards. “Who’s next?”

   “I believe I am.” The voice was immediately recognizable, despite the fact that he hadn’t seen her since school.

   “Millicent?” he said in disbelief. “What are you doing here?”

   She rumpled up her thick nose. “I’m sick.”

   “So I see,” Draco noted the redness around her eyes and the extra puffiness in her cheeks.

  1. Draco gave a defeated sigh. All he wanted to do was go home and take a long, hot soak in his citrus bubble bath salts. Having Harry join him certainly wouldn’t hurt either… “ _Draco_.”



   “Fine, come this way,” Draco said in his Healer Voice. He led Millicent back to the examination room and took closed the door behind them.

   She looked at the patient’s seat skeptically. “I’ve only had private Healers before.”

   “It’s self-cleaning,” he explained, motioning to where Mr. Left Eye had been sitting only moments ago. Millicent swallowed whatever pride she had and sat down. After all, she was a half-blood in spite of her father’s spoiling, with a cockney accent to boot. Draco lit the tip of his wand and looked closely at her swollen features. “This looks like an allergic reaction. What were you doing when you noticed it?”

   Millicent frowned as Draco continued his look-over. “I was brewing a potion at home when Pansy came in through my floo. I dropped a little too much shrivelfig in ‘cause she shocked me, and it blew up in my face. But that’s not even the strange part.”

   “I’ll run a test for an allergy to shrivelfigs,” Draco said, using his wand to take care of the business side of the interaction. “What’s the strange part?” He almost didn’t want to know. Pansy was one of his closest friends, but sometimes her misadventures were too much for him. They always had ulterior motives, and a simple fight over what restaurant they were eating at always seemed to devolve into a fight over how Draco was leaving his old life with his Slytherin gang for a new one with Harry. Pansy’s romantic interest in Draco had died in their sixth year, but his friendship meant more to her than she could say. Despite the fact that she had a strange way of showing it.

   “So she comes in from my fireplace, and I’m not kidding, she starts hitting on me.”

   “People tend to mistake Pansy’s jokes as flirting,” Draco informed her. He figured she would know that, having spent seven years in a dormitory with her.

   The line of Millicent’s jaw hardened. “I _know_ when Pans is joking. She asked me out. I didn’t even know she was gay.”

   “She’s not. Equal opportunity is probably a better term.” Draco had always thought of Pansy as sort of everyone-sexual anyway. Whoever paid attention to her in time, money, or glittery necklaces usually got her in bed regardless of gender. Millicent flattened her green skirts in annoyance.

   “Look, whatever, I thought you’d want to know that she asked me to be her date to your wedding.”

   Draco probably shouldn’t have looked as shocked as he did. “In those exact words?” he asked, wondering why Pansy had never even expressed an interest in Millicent. Then again, they hadn’t talked very much in the past week.

   “Pretty much,” she confessed. “Is she okay? I mean, I said ‘no’ and she got pretty upset.”

   “Why did you say no?” Draco demanded.

   “Because I don’t like women?” she retorted, giving him an angry look.

   “Oh.” Draco had really only been on a Christmas postcard basis with Bulstrode since school, he had no idea Pansy even spoke to her. It was massively out of character for Pansy to keep her mouth shut about anything, especially potential mates. They had stayed up more nights together drinking and talking about their love lives than Draco could count. It felt wrong that the last time he had been over was to talk about the engagement that she hadn’t even been happy for.

   “I just figured, since you’re her best friend and all…” Millicent trailed off. “I still wanna be friends with Pans, but I don’t wanna date her. Sorry.”

   “I’ll talk to her,” Draco assured her. Looking back to her inflamed eyes, he remembered he had a job. “I can run samples down to the lab and send you the results. Do you still live in Brighton?” Millicent nodded. “I’ll give you something to calm the reaction for now, and be sure to stay away from shrivelfig.” He wrote her a prescription for a potion at the local shop, and saw her off.  At least she had paid the consulting fee.

   Her story haunted Draco for the rest of the day, left wondering what the hell had Pansy so desperate that she was phoning up old classmates that weren’t even attracted to her. By the time he left Pye’s clinic torture and was absolved in his ever-so-holy eyes, Draco was back to worrying.

******

   “You told him to do _what_?” Narcissa raised her voice, eyes locked on her husband furiously.

   Lucius sat down on their bed. “I am trying to protect our money! Don’t you want Draco to be secure when they split up?”

   Narcissa was in the middle of removing her extensive amount of jewelry, the couple having just returned from a soiree at the Gamp estate. “You are refusing to accept that they will be staying together,” she said as she unclasped a bracelet, turning back to her mirror.

   “You are very optimistic.”

   “One of us has to be,” Narcissa said proudly. “There is no need for a prenuptial. It looks tacky to everyone else.”

   Lucius crossed his arms angrily. “What will look _tacky_ is when our son is left penniless and divorced.”

   “This is _Harry Potter_ we are talking about, correct? The only thing he’s ever stolen were The Dark Lord’s horcruxes,” she hissed. Her diamond earrings were the next thing to go, back in their place in the music box her mother had given her.

   “Let’s not bring that up,” Lucius said under his breath, hurt that she would dredge up the war at a time like this.

   A controlled exhale left Narcissa. “Fine, we won’t talk about how Harry saved us. Instead, let’s talk about how you cannot cause any more tension between them than what you probably have already caused. Do you remember the first time I met _your_ father?”

   “That was different,” he asserted.

   “How?” Narcissa questioned. “I was scared he wouldn’t approve of me, or would think that you deserved better.”

   Lucius stood and walked towards his wife. “There is no one on earth better than you.” Narcissa couldn’t help but smile a little. “Here, let me,” he said, moving to unclasp her necklace. His hands weren’t quite as nimble as they used to be, but they were warm on the back of her neck. “I only have Draco’s best interest in mind.”

   The gold necklace slid down her chest easily once undone and she put it down on her boudoir. Shaking her head, she turned to face Lucius. “So does Harry. I know you don’t like him, but he’s a good man. The best our Draco has ever been with.”

   “Wait,” Lucius stopped her. “Draco’s been with _other men_?”

   “Harry isn’t his first _anything_ , darling. Except that soon he’ll be his first marriage.”

   Lucius could have sworn he felt all of hair turn grey on the spot.

******

   Pansy Parkinson found herself at the bottom of a bottle of firewhiskey while the sunset cast in through her large, white windows, which was never a good sign. Ever since Millicent bloody Bulstrode had turned her down, she had been moping around her large, empty house. She hadn’t even liked Millicent that much, but it was still a slap in the face that she had no other girls to floo to and visit. All of her past hookups had either moved away or decided to never speak to her again, and the one girlfriend she had ever had for more than a few days had to go pursue her career in Africa or whatever, and couldn’t have been tied down.

   The veritable rolodex of men she could call was always open, but now she felt that her big plan had been ruined. She so vividly saw her walking into Draco’s reception in a dazzling green dress, with some girl they both knew on her arm. Then maybe Draco would feel the way Pansy had when he told her about an engagement they’d never even discussed before. Pansy could prove to him that she had a life outside of their friendship, too.

   But the idea of showing up to Draco’s big day alone made her more upset than she could say. It would be further proof that he had what it took to get his life together and she didn’t. He had his dream job, dream man, dream apartment… Pansy had firewhiskey. Or, did have firewhiskey. Just as she accio’d herself another bottle, she heard someone clearing their throat behind her.

   When she spun her head around from her bedroom chair to look, her stomach sank into her feet. “Draco? What are you doing here?”

   “You left your wards down,” he said softly, making his way to sit in the pink chair opposite her.

   “Shit,” she muttered. “I knew I was forgetting something.”

   “You also ‘forgot’ to tell me about your sudden crush on Bulstrode.” Draco leaned back into the chair and had to struggle to make sure it didn’t swallow him whole. He’d never understand how Pansy could live in a room like this.

   She took a swig of the firewhiskey, trying to make it seem like she could care less. “I don’t have a crush on her.”

   “Then why did you ask her to my wedding? She’s worried about you.”

   “Glad to know someone is,” Pansy said in an undertone.

   “Panda, what’s going on with you?” Draco asked, using his wand to procure her bottle of firewhiskey.

   Her menacing look didn’t scare him one bit. Draco took a sip out of the bottle just to prove it. “Give. That. Back.”

   “Not until you tell me what exactly it is you think you’re doing. Since when have I not been let in on a malicious plan?”

   “Since you’re getting hitched to Potter! Why aren’t you with him now?” Pansy snapped. Her insecurities shone bright in the light of alcohol.

   “Because you’re my friend, and I’m worried about you.” That, and Harry was out at another obscure hour trying to track down the would-be bandits. Draco wanted to help his friend out, but he didn’t quite know how.

   Pansy shifted in her chair; she hadn’t expected him to be so nice about it. The fact that Draco was actually trying to make some sort of comforting effort was strange and new territory for them. “Stay here tonight,” she pleaded. “We haven’t had a sleepover since you moved in with him.”

   Draco considered for a moment. After all, Harry wouldn’t be home until midnight again… Despite the fact that he desperately needed to talk to him about his father’s prenuptial agreement, he also desperately needed to talk Pansy down from whatever she was going through. “Promise you’ll tell me what’s going on?”

   “I swear on my shoe collection,” Pansy said, very quickly getting her hopes up.

   “Okay. But I have to leave for work in the morning at eight, so we can’t stay up too late.”

   “Oh, Drakey!” she exclaimed, practically launching herself at him for a hug.

   “ _Never call me that_.”

   Pansy took a seat on the carpeted floor next to his leg, happily resting her face on his knee. “It’s like that thing that muggles always say. ‘Brothers before whores’ or something like that.”

   “Harry isn’t some trick,” Draco laughed. “And you’re my sister. Since when do you quote muggles?”

   “Since I’ve gone off the deep end,” Pansy said pleasantly. The firewhiskey gave her looser lips than usual. “You’re getting married and moving on with your life, Greg is dating some Hufflepuff, Theo opened his own store, and Blaise finally moved out of the black widow’s house. So that leaves me, in my parent’s house while they live in the house in Paris, alone, and unemployed.”

   Draco took a second to absorb what she was saying. “Have you ever sent out an application for a job?”

   “That’s not the point!” she insisted. “The point is that you’re not going to have time for me anymore. Barely anyone does as is!”

   “Pans, that’s not true at all.” He had been rather busy lately, but that wasn’t because he enjoyed avoiding her. Maybe if she had a job, she would understand. “After the wedding, I’ll still be myself. It’s not like they’re sewing us together at the altar.”

   What he was saying made sense, but logic and Pansy Parkinson had never really gotten along. “He hates me.”

   “Harry doesn’t _hate_ you,” he said carefully.

   “I would hate me, too!” Pansy threw her arms up dramatically, collapsing drunkenly back on the floor to look up at Draco. She took a deep breath and recalled one of the worst nights of her life. “I wanted to give Potter up to Voldemort. The She-Weasel had to defend him from me.”

   Draco ran a hand through his hair, trying to formulate a response. It was true; Harry was definitely not Pansy’s biggest fan before or after that incident. “I think… He understands that you were afraid. That you were looking out for your life and everyone else’s, because you thought it would save us.”

   “Do you really think he could forgive me?”

   “He forgave me,” Draco affirmed. She had almost forgotten all about that.

   “I should probably stop calling him ‘Potter’ then, hm?” Pansy smiled a little, staring up at her wedding-cake white ceiling.

   Draco laughed. “Just like I should probably stop calling Ron and Hermione the Weasel family.”

   “But that’s who they _are_ ,” Pansy laughed, burying her face in the fuchsia carpet. “They’re _Weasels_. Always have been, always will be.”

   He moved out of the plush chair and onto the floor to lie next to her. “Old habits die hard.” He felt like they were looking up at the stars through her roof, their eyes both fixed on the swirls of white patterns on her ceiling. “Is that really what you’ve been so upset about?”

   “It’s something I’ve been upset about. That, and… You all have jobs now. You’re, like, functioning members of society. All I do is drink and fuck around,” Pansy sighed.

   “There’s nothing wrong with it. I still drink. I mean, the only person I fuck around with is Harry, but that’s obvious,” he grinned.

   “I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with it. It’s just, you know, I went to a club a few days ago and I was the oldest woman there. I wasn’t ancient or anything, but every guy was twenty-one or had a girl on his arm.”

   “So you’re a cougar. Big deal,” Draco teased, “Just go to a different club.” It seemed like helpful advice until he realized she was getting upset.

   “Yeah, but I was at the club alone. Everyone was too busy to go with me. Don’t you miss the good old days we used to spend all night chasing cock downtown?”

   “How were those good?” he asked with a laugh. They’d gone home with some admittedly interesting guys, but none of them held Draco’s attention for more than a night.

   Insulted, Pansy turned and stared him down. “They were fun. We were the king and queen of nightlife.”

   “Are you _happy_ still drinking and fucking around?” He had a hint that she wasn’t, but with Pansy it was best to let her think she came up with the solution to her problem herself. All it took was for Draco to plant the seed in her mind.

   She stayed quiet for a moment, biting her lower lip. “I don’t think I am anymore. I love alcohol and hooking up has always been fun, but I feel like I’m stuck. I’m in a stage of arrested development, and I can’t _go_ anywhere.”

   “That’s not true. You can always go somewhere. You go lots of somewheres with _lots_ of someones.”

   “Not somewhere meaningful! It’s like, like that sappy look you get in your eyes when you see Pott—Harry, sorry, come over to greet you. Or how your mother tears up a little when she sees you happy. Or how you and Theo share knowing looks when you talk about how tough your jobs are. Or how you look when you talk about saving someone’s life and how their family members couldn’t stop crying and thanking you. The only kind of crying I’ve ever made anyone do is the sad kind.”

   Draco found himself at a loss for words. His best girlfriend had never been the deepest individual. In fact, he could probably step in a puddle of her and not even get his ankles wet. Something about her drunken state made him feel like she was finally telling him the truth. “I had no idea.”

   “I’ve gone soft and monogamous. Next thing you know I’ll be showing up at pro-mudblood rights rallies,” she declared unhappily. “Give me back my firewhiskey.”

   “No, it’s staying with me,” Draco insisted. “Do you want a job?”

   Her head bobbed up and down miserably. “I can’t go on being so useless.”

   “Where do you think you’d want to work?”

   Pansy groaned as if the concept of thinking gave her a headache. “I look like a total copycat if I say I want to work in the hospital.”

   “You don’t. I could always put in a good word for you.”

   “Really?” she asked quietly. “What’s it like there?”

   “The head Healer is a complete prick, but that’s really my only complaint. Everything else kind of balances out,” Draco explained. The pros outweighed the cons for him, and that was enough. With the bottle of firewhiskey slowly sliding under her bed to hide it from her, Draco felt like giving himself a pat on the back. His friendship with Pansy was usually nothing short of tragicomic, and there they were talking like two relatively normal human beings. Minus the liquid courage in Pansy’s system.

   Pansy stared into the ceiling as if it was the one giving her answers. “I don’t think I want to be a Healer. Something with less pressure, maybe. But not a nurse. I am _so_ never being a nurse. Can you imagine that? Me cleaning up vomit and piss from the old hags?”

   “You could always be a mediwitch.”

   “Yes!” Pansy cried, rolling onto her stomach and stretching out. “That’s what I’ll do. I’ll be a mediwitch! Aren’t you proud?”

   Draco laughed, watching her wriggle on the carpet. “’Course I am, Panda. Now, I’ll go owl Harry and fetch some pajamas, you get your house elf to make us some popcorn so we can talk and eat. You need to sober up, dear. I haven’t even gotten a chance to show you the layout of my wedding. Deal?”

   “Deal,” Pansy grinned, and pushed herself up off the floor to go sprint towards the kitchen.

   When they both returned from their separate missions and settled down in her far-too-soft bed, they were feeling in much better spirits.

   “I cannot believe you almost tried to use Millicent to make me jealous,” Draco laughed, arranging the pillows the way he liked them.

   “It wasn’t to make you jealous of _her_ or anything, only to make you jealous of my happiness.”

   Draco let out a guffaw. “How sweet. You realize it would have been at the so-called happiest day of my life?” He picked up a handful of popcorn and ate them one by one.

   “I was a little drunk when I thought of it,” she admitted. That, and surrounded by people who were all more successful than her and probably bringing high-profile dates.

   “You’re always a little drunk,” he reminded her.

   “Enough about my inebriation,” Pansy said sternly leaning on her elbow to face him. “Tell me about your undoubtedly fabulous wedding.”

   Draco smiled and closed his eyes, seeing it all in his mind as clear as if he was walking through the gardens and showing her. He waved his hand with every sentence, creating the scene in front of them. “Harry and I will be wearing white dressrobes at the end of the aisle, bonding our wands and saying our vows with dark purple carnations pinned to our lapels. The color scheme will be a deep plum alongside silver and brown accents. Flowers line the chairs and all the groomsmen will wear black dressrobes with purple corsages and cocoa ties. The groomsmaids, or whatever we’re calling them, will all go shopping together one day and pick out different styles of purple and brown dresses. We won’t be one of those couples who force them all to match. My girls get purple, his get brown. We’ll say our custom vows, pray nobody objects, and snog in front of everyone. Then, we’ll all go down to the reception hall where Harry and I will have our first dance as a married couple. And after that, we party. The centerpieces will be beautiful brown bonsai trees that blossom with more flowers as the night goes on, and the tablecloths and napkins will be of the highest thread count I can find. Dinner will be served by a fleet of waiters who will also be carrying around snacks. There will be an open bar, but we haven’t selected menu items yet.”

   Pansy ooh’d and ahhh’d through the entire thing, very happy she’d be wearing purple. It changed her original vision, but she liked it.

   “That is,” he said, “if nobody fucks anything up.”

   “Salazar help the people who try and come in between you and perfection,” she laughed. While The Prophet was usually wrong about everything they sent out of the presses, the term ‘Groomzilla’ was definitely something she found agreeable.

   “I can’t settle for anything less,” Draco said pointedly.

   They stayed up the rest of the night talking about seating arrangements and meal plans until Draco forced Pansy to stop talking around midnight. He insisted on getting a good night’s rest. They fell asleep like they had when they were kids, curled up in their own separate little blanket forts and content.


	9. Three's Company

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Draco have some issues they need to resolve, and Harry's hero complex kicks in.

**Chapter 9: Three’s Company**

   Harry was drained in every sense of the word. The night before without Draco hadn’t helped him at all, having received an owl at work that he was spending the night at Parkinson’s. On top of that, the trespassers seemed to have cooled their heels and stopped sneaking into buildings altogether. Kingsley, needless to say, wasn’t very pleased. The only benefit to ending the patrols around the museum was getting home the usual time, having returned to his regular shift. Harry was somewhere beyond relieved when he opened the door to their flat to find Draco reading on the couch.

   “Honey, I’m home,” Harry called out like he’d seen in one of those muggle shows. Sadly, it didn’t sound quite like the show because he was so exhausted, and the reference was lost entirely on Draco. He kicked off his boots and walked to sit next to Draco.

   “Hey,” he greeted, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “You’re finally home in sunlight.”

   “Thank Merlin.” Harry rested his head on Draco’s shoulder and closed his eyes.

   “Poor little hero, exhausted from keeping us all safe,” Draco teased lightly. After a moment, he put his book down on the coffee table and turned to rest his hands on his shoulders. “Want a back rub?”

   Harry suppressed a whine of need. “That would be _wonderful_.”

   After all the time they spent together, Draco knew just how his fiancée liked it. Harry had always been good at taking what Draco gave him. He dug his fingers in hard and started to massage in small circles that slowly grew bigger across his back. It bunched up the fabric of Harry’s black robes, but he could care less. As the circles expanded, he bore down even harder. “Damn, you’ve got knots. All that tension isn’t good for you, you know. What kind of bizarre heavy-lifting has Shacklebolt got you doing? I would say ‘learn to relax’ but in my experience you do that spectacularly.”

   “Mm, spectacular,” Harry parroted, not really listening to a word Draco was saying. The circles moved inwards towards his spine, and finally the pressure hit that spot on Harry’s neck. He let out a barely audible gasp.

   “There it is.” Draco increased the pressure, melting away the stress in his body. Worries fell out off of him like water droplets, and he unbuttoned his robes for a better experience. Draco’s impossibly soft lips skimmed over his ear and Harry threatened to waste away into a puddle.

   When he was on the verge of a tranquil sleep, Draco stopped and wrapped his arms around him. Since Harry couldn’t be bothered to sit up, he rested his head on Draco’s chest and the two lay back together. “Thanks.”

   “Any time.” Draco kissed the top of his head. The two fell into what Draco loved to refer to as ‘companionable silence’. It had been an obsession of his ever since he heard the term back in school. He’d discovered they could have it together as early as when he was treating Harry at St. Mungo’s. It may have seemed strange, but all Draco wanted was to be able to sit in silence with someone. It couldn’t be awkward, and it couldn’t be uncomfortable. It just had to be silence between two people where nothing needed to be done or said. Draco had dreamed about it after he moved out of school, envisioning him and some man sipping tea or reading together in total noiselessness. When they had moved in together, after unpacking all of their belongings and _finally_ moving all the furniture in, they had taken a moment of mutual lassitude and lay in their new bed together. Not sleeping, not even really touching, all in silence. That was how Draco knew he made the right decision.

   Swimming in and out of sleep, the sun set outside of their flat. When they both awoke again, it was dark. The first thing Harry saw was the full moon hanging high outside of a window, and he felt a little bit sick. Every time he saw a full moon, he thought of his godfathers and what they had to be going through, howling at the moon. The only sounds he heard were the rustling of fabric when Draco woke up behind him, yawning. “I haven’t had a good nap in ages,” Harry grinned, stretching his arms out.

   “Really? Not even a secret one in your big Auror office?” Draco laughed.

   “No, do you nap at work?”

   Draco batted his eyelashes innocently. “Only when things are slow. Or when someone wants to talk to me and I’m ‘in a meeting’.” Harry chuckled, his love a Slytherin to the core.

   “I interrupted your reading,” he noticed, his eyes drifting to the book on the table.

   “I needed a break anyway. Tolstoy is brilliant, but I was tired of reading in Russian.” Draco always insisted on reading authors in their native language, and had a knack for learning them quickly. That, and a few spells certainly didn’t hurt. “Mother insisted I read more of his short stories, though. You know how she loves to slip in her recommendations in gifts.”

   Unable to not be looking at Draco a second longer, Harry turned onto his stomach and rested his chin on his chest. “I suspect she got you all of his works,” he poked fun.

   “Believe it or not, she did. Along with a new collection of silverware and some of the family china, like I’m some stay-at-home mom. It’s madness,” Draco sighed.

   “Actually—“

   “Listen—“ Draco began, and stopped once he realized Harry was trying to speak as well.

   “Sorry, you first,” Harry urged. He definitely didn’t want to bring up what he had to say unless his fiancée had a clear mind.

   “Are you sure? I mean, it can wait,” he said quickly.

   Harry ran a thumb along his jawline. Waiting was definitely not one of his beloved’s strong suits, and he had no virtuous patience. “No, honestly. You go ahead.” Harry suspected it was more wedding plans, and maybe that could get Draco in the mood to talk about a possible future with children.

   “It’s fine, it’s definitely fine. You first,” Draco insisted.

   “What if we both say it at the same time?”

   “I don’t think that’s such a good—“

   “Come on, on the count of three.” Harry waited for Draco’s surrendering nod. “One… Two… Three.”

   What came out of both of them were entirely different sentences, but managed to mash together into a ‘Do you want my father says children when we’re we should get older a prenuptial agreement’.

   “What?” they both asked at once.

   “ _Kids_?”

   “A _prenup_? Are we on reality television?”

   “My father was rather relentless about it when I visited him,” Draco explained, feeling like an idiot for even bringing it up. He should have known how Harry would react. Even so, he couldn’t think of a wedding without his parents in attendance.

   “And you agree with him?” Harry sat up, confused.

   “No, but I see what he’s—“

   “You think I’m going to try and steal your money?” Harry questioned angrily.

   “No! He finally agreed to attend and not oppose the wedding on this one condition; it’s not a big deal.”

   Growing more frustrated by the second, Harry shook his head. “I’m not jumping through legal hoops because your father decided to emotionally blackmail you.”

   “Right, because you’re too busy signing us up for Hogwarts parent council meetings!” The idea of having children shook Draco to his core. He was convinced he would be a horrible father, and maybe even hurt his kids as much as his father had hurt him. It was impossible for him to put someone else through that.

   “I’m not! I said ‘when we’re older’. Our twenties only last so long, we could wait a few years until we’re ready,” Harry informed him.

   Draco backed up into his own corner of the couch. “I’m never going to be ready, Harry. I don’t want kids. Aren’t you happy with what we have now? We can travel wherever and whenever we want, our flat isn’t covered in finger-paint and snot, and we can stay out as long as we like without having to call a sitter. That’s good enough for me.”

   “I’m not saying this isn’t good enough for me!”

   “So why the hell do we need a bunch of brats running around?” Draco snapped.

   “They won’t be _brats_ , they’ll be ours. We could even use in vitro if your parents want us to,” Harry conceded. While he would definitely prefer adoption, having any kids at all would be just fine with him.

   “Or, we could keep living happily with our lives, careers, and friends. We don’t even have time for kids, we’ve barely had time for each other this week,” Draco pointed out. Having gone from bachelor life to being in love with Harry had been a huge step for him, and he wasn’t sure he could take another one.

   “Yeah, but don’t you want a family?”

   Draco rolled his eyes. “I _have_ a family.”

   “One that can talk you into not trusting me with your precious galleons,” Harry said furiously.

   “That wasn’t who I was talking about. I’ve got you, my friends, and sometimes even your friends. That’s what this is supposed to be about, joining the families we chose and the families we were born with! Not adding a clan of children.” Draco had almost entirely forgotten about the fact that the family Harry was born into wasn’t exactly around anymore.

   “I’m not saying we should get a clan! And definitely not now, but later on. I sort of thought _that_ was what getting married entailed!” It wasn’t the entire reason that Harry proposed, but it was definitely part of it.

   “It’s a legal contract that gives us hospital visitation rights, tax breaks, and a beautiful ceremony. I didn’t know I was being forced into any other commitments,” Draco said in a vitriolic tone.

   Harry couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “I’m not forcing you into anything! Unlike your bloody prenup, kids are a choice.”

   “I’m not going to tie you down and force you to sign it,” Draco flared. As much as Harry enjoyed being tied down, it had always been consensual.

   “Yeah, but if I don’t, then I’m the reason your father doesn’t show up. I’ve been the reason for too many of your arguments.”

   “You can put your family’s fortune in the deal as well,” Draco tried. Harry obviously didn’t care as much about his money, but his fiancée tried to make a convincing argument anyway.

   Their fight climbed louder and louder. “I don’t care about that! I feel guilty, okay? I want you to have a good relationship with him, but you have to see that he’s practically holding your insecurities hostage.”

   “I am _not_ insecure,” Draco lied rather loudly, getting up from the couch only to have Harry follow him.

   “Then why do you care so much about what he thinks of us getting married? You’re constantly looking for his approval, and Lucius is being cruel if—“

   “All you have to do is sign a fucking paper! Is that so hard?” Draco yelled, wheeling around to face him. “He’s my family, so sue me for wanting him to be proud of me! Hell, he’s my _father_! You don’t know what it’s like!”

   Harry immediately clammed up, crossing his arms. “Right.”

   “Oh, you know that’s not what I meant,” Draco started, walking back towards him only to have Harry move away. He felt something deep within him ache.

   “It doesn’t matter,” he muttered. The fight in his eyes faded away to nothing, and he felt himself going back to the year he spent on The Camping Trip From Hell along with the argument he had with Ron. For some reason, it still cut him deep. The two stood in a very un-companionable silence for far too long. It made Draco’s skin feel prickly, like it wasn’t his own.

  “I didn’t mean—“

   “I’m going out,” he said quietly.

   “Where?” Draco asked purely out of habit. He could have kicked himself.

   Harry walked back to the door, getting his coat. “I don’t know.” The idea of his fiancée traipsing about on a Friday night angry with him did not help Draco’s insecurities at all.

   Feeling utterly pathetic, Draco walked closer again and continued his worrying. “But you’ll come home?” He felt like kicking himself again. Putting so much of an emotional investment in one man was terrifying to Draco because of his maintained fear that he could always never come back. He could walk out the door and leave him without a second thought on the matter. Of course, that wasn’t true at all, but he still feared the worst.

   “Yeah,” Harry mumbled, shoving on his boots and not even bothering to lace them up. “See you.” Harry closed the door behind him before Draco even got out his ‘goodbye’.

******

   After a few hours of cooling off by wandering around London, Harry had figured some things out. The first being that Draco was right about not being able to understand what it was like. He hadn’t meant that Harry didn’t know what it was like to want to impress a father figure; Draco was talking about his own father as an isolated incident.

   Lucius Malfoy was a breed of his own. Both a family man and an ex-Death Eater, he did what he believed he had to do to keep his family safe.

   Lucius would have had troubles with any man Draco chose to spend his life with. He was protective without ever even informing the person he was trying to protect. Every underhanded move and scheme was to ensure the best outcome for his only son. Draco was often convinced that his father felt nothing for him at all except a need for heirs, but that simply wasn’t true. He loved him so much to the point where he was willing to hurt their relationship to ensure his happiness. The idea made Harry’s head hurt. Harry fervently disagreed with Lucius’ methods, but at least he now understood the reason behind them.

   Even so, what he couldn’t grasp was the very essence of pureblood society itself. The shame that came with caring and loving, but the fact that people cannot avoid being emotionally entangled. It was as if the council of magical-born elders had sat down one day and decided that they were somehow above the rest of humanity. It shouldn’t have come at such a shock to Harry, the elite felt superior in every other field already.

   Draco and he were star-crossed as it was with their war history, but Harry had no idea about how different the pureblood upper-crust culture was. Ron had never been a part of it, and Sirius had run screaming from it.

   Lucius had never been taught to care and had passed that trait onto Draco. It was no wonder that for the first seventeen years of his life he was a complete menace. Father and son were maturing into that at the same time, but things were more deeply rooted in Lucius. Harry shoved his hands in his pockets, knowing how hard it was for Draco to express how he felt when they first got together.

   He hadn’t been able to say an ‘I love you’ for the longest time. Harry had been heartbroken, believing it was somehow his fault or that he was being strung along. When Draco finally worked up the courage to sit him down and tell him how he felt, it had been disorienting.

   Draco had told him that from a young age, he’d seen love as a weakness. Not just romantic love, but the love he shared with his friends, and anyone that wasn’t a part of his family. The more people you loved, the weaker you were and the more people that could leave you. It was all about self-preservation and preservation of the nuclear pureblood family. The moment Harry had told him he would be willing to wait for when Draco was ready, he finally said it.

   Harry rounded a corner and found himself in a wizarding section of the capital. He passed by a few spellbook stores knowing that soon enough, he’d need to go home. He still definitely wasn’t happy that Draco didn’t want children, but they had time on their side. He could see the same resistance to kids that he once saw his fiancée feel towards a relationship, and what Draco lacked in patience, Harry made up for. He would never give up the fight for a family, but he could always wait.

   With a hint of bitterness, he passed by the now un-policed History of Magic museum. It stood solemn and tall, the white columns of marble stretching upwards to touch the sky. It was an imposing structure, supposedly guarded by a flock of strong men and women who valued the arts. Harry still thought the specially-trained Aurors would be doing themselves a favor to protect it. Murals of important events in wizard history were etched along the walls. Glorious battles and austere trials decorated the stone, all making up the past of the wizarding world.

   After stopping to admire the carving of Merlin shaking a piece of parchment in his hand to the old Wizards’ Council, advocating for muggles rights, Harry noticed something. His left eye was gone, like it had simply been removed from the carving.

   Harry spun around quickly and grabbed the nearest pedestrian he found. “Do you see that?” he asked, adjusting his glasses. “The eye is gone. Are they cleaning it?”

   The man he’d taken ahold of looked at him in awe, his brown eyes bugging out of his head. “You’re bleedin’ Harry Potter!”

   “That I am. Now—“

   “You’re the biggest poofter of the century! My brother loves you, got a big celebrity crush on you,” the man said playfully, giving his shoulder an uncalled for squeeze.

   “That’s not important. What do you know about the eye of Merlin?”

   “Okay, mate. There is no eye, it doesn’t come apart since it’s one big likeness. Good ol’ whashisface sculpted it back in forever ago. Hey, are you really marrying that Malfoy bloke?”

   There really wasn’t any time to answer questions and hand out autographs. “Yes, yes I am. Thank you,” Harry said as he broke into a sprint towards the building. His black coat whipped out behind him as he ran around the side of the building.

   The night clung to him like his robes and as he searched in the dark for a door. He cast a ‘Lumos’ and tried to go through the building’s floor plan in his mind. When he finally came upon a door, his pulse was pounding. Thankfully, the museum hadn’t changed their lock signatures since the Aurors left, and Harry was able to open it without setting off an alarm.

   He found himself in a back room, surrounded by crates of unchecked artifacts. Harry’s wand was at the ready as he navigated through the shadowy aisles. The adrenaline rush was so unstoppable he felt it hammering in his ears.

   Trying to be as quiet as possible, Harry found a winding metal staircase leading up. He didn’t know how high exactly the murals were, but he sure knew about all the other dangerous relics that the museum held. From chaos orbs to weapons of old, Harry did not want any of those falling into the wrong hands. They belonged in their cases and with their curators.

   The museum was deadly quiet aside from the shifting of his clothes and the light tap of his feet on the floor. Whoever was in the building with him hadn’t set off an alarm either, and most likely hadn’t been noticed by a guard. He almost scoffed at the thought of a rent-an-Auror trying to fight off such finessed criminals.

   With practically no evidence proving that someone was even there with him, Harry relied on his instincts. He softened his footsteps as he ascended the stairs, feeling slightly dizzy from all the twisting and climbing. When the stairs emptied out at the top, he crouched down so he was eyelevel with the metal floor. A hole in the wall, presumably Merlin’s eye, cast a ring of moonlight into the room. Harry’s breath caught in his throat when he could make out two people standing in the pool of light.

   The numbing sensation rushed over Harry’s body, being right in the thick of war again. It wasn’t against Voldemort; it was against everything evil in the world. It was Harry’s burden, having been raised a ‘hero’ and knowing no other way to live. His whole life he would be looking over his shoulder and scanning for moving shapes in dark alleys.

   “I’m telling you, this spell is genius. We don’t need to continue with the plan, we could _sell_ it!” the man announced. His sleek black robes looked like an oil slick, his greased black hair falling back into them.

   The woman shook her head. “Don’t be a fool. Now, do you want a tour of the grand museum? Let me show you what my brothers and sisters have had to put behind on display like some circus, for the filth of the world to ogle.”

   It was dark, but Harry was pretty sure he’d never seen the two before in his life. The diamond earrings on the woman made him suspect that they weren’t simply petty criminals, but he didn’t exactly keep up with the crime rings The Prophet wrote lies about. He wondered if they felt misrepresented too. “Sure, Madam… But first, are you sure you don’t want to cash out now? We’d be set our whole lives long.”

   “For the absolute last time, we are not selling it,” the woman hissed, pointing her wand at his throat. Her neatly trimmed grey-streaked bob swished as she spun to magically pin him. She looked rather old to be breaking and entering, but Harry had seen stranger things. “We will be going ahead with the plan and I don’t want to hear anything more from you on that.”

   “But, Madam, we would gain even more money from selling it than we would—“ The man was cut off by being slammed into a crate, the ‘Madam’s wand digging into his neck.

   “You think this is about money, Damien?” she growled. “Oh, how wrong you are. And how dead you’ll soon be.” A strangled whimper escaped him and he struggled to get his own wand out of his pocket. The woman used her free hand to tear the wand from his loose grip and promptly tossed it out of the makeshift window.

   “No!” he roared, his hands flying forward. “Please, don’t!”

   “Crucio!” the woman screamed, watching him collapse to the floor in agony. Harry tried to assess the danger in confronting her head-on, and decided a long distance spell would be pacifying enough. Just when he began to move to attack, the woman spoke again with laughter in her tone. “This always was a two person job, and you’re the weakest link. No hard feelings, right?” Her voice was mocking and caustic.

   Harry knew he had to act fast. He sprung up from the stairs and cast a stunning spell at the witch.

   Thankfully, he caught her off guard. She fell to the floor and Harry sent a “Petrificus Totalus!” her way.

   The man she had called Damien scrambled to run but Harry caught him in a leg-lock jinx and he fell to the floor. After Damien stopped struggling and looked at him with horror-filled eyes, Harry cast the petrifying spell on him as well, whilst he was mid-scream. The spell always came in handy as an Auror to freeze a suspect without damaging them, and they’d be locked up soon enough.

 _Well,_ he thought to himself _. I should probably owl Kingsley; tell him I was right about the damned non-robberies. Ron can finally ask them why they did it. Maybe they’ll let us in on their big, failed plan and I can take on a real case for once._

   With what he thought was a job well done, he had a moment to chew over what the woman had said. ‘Two person job’? And Damien was their third?

   It was the last thought Harry had before he felt a stunning spell crackle over his back and he fell forward onto the cold, hard floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was so much fun to write, which might make me a bad person. Thanks again for all of your reviews and favorites, you guys make my day.


	10. Odds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry weighs the odds while Pansy finds herself at odds with her new coworker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to leave you with a cliffhanger, I couldn’t resist. Thanks again for your support, I love the fanfiction community. You’re ace.

**Chapter 10: Odds**

   Harry heard the world around him before he saw it. The whirr of the overhead lights seemed to blend with the sounds of people talking distantly as his surroundings shifted into focus. The next thing he felt was a throbbing in his head that was unparalleled. It blocked out all of his other senses as quickly as he had started to regain them, and he opened his mouth in a silent scream. At least he hoped it was silent.

   He felt like he was floating, like his feet weren’t quite touching the ground. He ebbed in and out of consciousness, unsure of what time was passing or what he was seeing.

   “Harry? Harry, can you hear me?” Whoever it was sounded miles away, like they were shouting across a Quidditch field. It took him a moment to realize his eyes were open. The light felt like it threatened to blind him, and he screwed them back shut.

   “Harry?” the voice said again. It sounded as if it was drifting closer. He wanted to reach out and see if someone was actually there, but his aching head held him back. The irrational fear that his body might split in half from the torture swept over him.

   He let out a groan of anguish when he felt a hand on his shoulder. The world came at him faster than a seeker in flight. “Where am I?” Harry gasped, his eyes opening again to take in his surroundings. He blinked to adjust, his eyes almost new and unused.

   “You’re at St. Mungo’s,” Hermione said, giving his shoulder a comforting pat. “They found you unconscious in front of the Magical History Museum. What happened?”

   “Hermione,” he sputtered out, trying to latch on to some part of reality. “I, there was this old woman, and this _guy_.” Harry paused there, trying his best to remember.

   Hermione softened. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be straining you.”

   “No, no… Where is… Where’s Draco?”

   “He’s the one who admitted you a couple days ago, he’s treating some burn victims in the operating room right now,” she explained gently.

   Harry didn’t turn his head to look at her, afraid he might snap his neck in the process. “’A couple days ago’?”

   The leather upholstered chair let out a moan beneath Hermione’s nervous shifting. “You had a terrible concussion,” she started. “You had some head trauma, and the man next to you… He was declared deceased on arrival here.”

   “ _Damien!_ ” he shouted, his head giving an angry throb at the noise. The sight of him pinned to the wooden crates at wandpoint flooded his mind.

   “Was that his name? Harry… What were you doing there? Kingsley ended Ron and your shifts there after nobody trespassed.”

   “He is –was—one of the people! The people with the plan! The people who don’t rob, they just break in,” Harry struggled with the words, his mind racing faster than his mouth. The hospital room finally came into full focus. The flowers at the end of his bed were piled high, lots of chocolates from people he’d never even met before. He had to consciously slow himself down. “I was there… I was there because Draco and I had a fight, and I was walking around to calm down. I walked past the museum and the eye of Merlin, Merlin’s eye…”

   Hermione’s brow knit in worry. She had sat at too many bedsides of the people she loved in her life, and it bothered her that Harry was so flustered. “I should tell a nurse that you’re awake,” she informed him. “They’ll want to run tests and make sure you’re okay.”

   “I am okay!” Harry insisted. And he was, if nobody counted the head trauma. “I know what they look like, the people who don’t steal. They said they had a plan! For their ‘brothers and sisters’ or whatever the hell that means...” He rambled on until he met Hermione’s concerned stare. “Fine, get a nurse.”

   She stood up and walked into the hallway, calling for assistance. Harry was left to feel useless in bed for little while, testing his motor skills. Toes and fingers moving swimmingly, eye motion seemingly normal… The last time he’d hit his head, Draco had told him of everything to check for.

   A nurse came in with a clipboard. “Mr. Potter, how are you feeling?” she asked, maneuvering around the massive piles of ‘get well’ gifts that had appeared at the foot of the bed.

   “I feel fine. It’s only a headache.” Harry realized he was wearing his Gryffindor sweatpants, and felt a stab of shame that Draco had to dress him while he was unconscious. All of his Auror senses returned slowly, and he noticed the empty potion bottles next to the bed that had kept him full and with his thirst quenched. His glasses were next to them, and he reached out to put them on.

   “On a scale of one to ten—“

   “I’m sorry, but I really, really need to go,” Harry said as he tried to swing his legs over the side of the bed and search for wherever they had put his shoes. He had to talk to Ron and Draco and get a report in and—Hermione stopped him from leaving.

   “Harry, please,” she said quietly. “You can’t move around too much, you don’t know how bad the injury is.”

   Letting out a defeated sigh, he sank back into the lumpy bed. He answered every inane medically-related question that the nurse fired at him, all the while itching to get out of the room any way possible. He told and retold his story of the mural, the museum warehouse, the dead man, and the Madam.

   His muscles felt tight and weak from his previous motionless state, and he tried his best to stretch out his calves while still in the bed. “…and then I woke up here and answered all of your questions. That’s everything. _Again_. Can I go now?” he finished.

   “Your attending Healer is the only one who can discharge you, I’m afraid. Healer Malfoy will be out of surgery shortly to attend to you,” she expatiated. For having to deal with such a flighty patient, she was showing an amazing amount of patience.

   Harry let a bothered breath escape him and he tried to find a comfortable position on the mattress. “Thanks,” he mumbled. He would at least be glad to see his fiancée, in spite of their argument. The nurse nodded and left Harry and Hermione to themselves.

   “I’m so relieved you’re alright,” Hermione told him. “Ron, Draco, and I were worried sick. We’ve all been taking shifts watching you so that someone could be there for you when you woke up.”

   He would have nodded if his head didn’t feel like it was going to fall off of his shoulders. “I feel like such an arse. I’m the one who left the flat angry.”

   “Don’t blame yourself,” Hermione insisted. “Ron said that Draco doesn’t blame you. Plus, there have been no other break-ins, and now you have information on them.”

   It was a strange time in his life, so he could only focus on one half of her statement. “Wait, they had a conversation? Involving talking and the exchange of ideas rather than grunting and spells? Did Ron actually call him ‘Draco’?” He wanted to make sure there wasn’t any permanent brain damage and he had heard her correctly. It had always been ‘Malfoy’, and he usually retorted with an always-applicable ‘Weasel’.

   Hermione smiled thinly. “Yes, they spoke and no jinxes were fired. Ron actually did call him by his first name and vise-versa. You were in a coma, Harry. They had no time for rivalries,” she pointed out.

   “Yeah, well maybe I should get knocked out a little more often,” he joked. Hermione clearly didn’t appreciate the humor.

   “Don’t you dare. Why didn’t you call for backup when you saw the eye was gone?” She searched for a reason behind Harry’s acts of extreme and borderline suicidal heroism whenever they happened, but Harry never gave her any real answers.

   “You’re telling me that they talked about _our relationship_?” Harry ignored her inquiries almost entirely. The mental image of Ron and Draco sitting down for a cool one over Harry’s love life made him almost giddy.

   Growing more frustrated with Harry’s inability to take the fact that he was hospitalized seriously, Hermione sat back down in the chair beside his stretcher. “Harry. You ran into a building having no idea whether or not you would come out, because of a _hunch_. That’s dangerous and you know it,” she asserted.

   Harry saw where she was coming from, and matched her tone. “I know it was dangerous, yes, but I needed to; I could feel it. That woman, she _killed_ one of her own team. They’re a threat to everyone.”

   “Harry, promise me you’ll call Ron and I next time. Or that you’ll call Draco. Or anyone! You were at their mercy for too long, they could have left you somewhere less public, and nobody would have seen you... Please be smart about this, it is your job. Owl us, ring us up, do _something_. Don’t ever go in alone again.” Hermione’s eyes were alight with emotion and she was almost pleading with him.

   “I promise,” Harry murmured. He’d at least try to contact Ron the next time around, or not wander the streets at an hour where criminals conducted business. The clock on the wall ticked loudly to signal the hour, and Harry looked up. “What day is it?” He felt ashamed for not knowing.

   “It’s a Monday. The twelfth,” she specified.

   The whole thing was disorienting. Harry didn’t feel like he’d slept through a few days, more like five minutes. “It’s one o’clock, you should be at work,” he remembered.

   “If I was, I wouldn’t have been here when you woke up.”

   “Don’t worry about it. Go be brilliant for the Ministry and fix the world, hm?” He gave her the best smile he could with his head feeling like it was stuck in a vice. “I’m awake now, and I should be resting, right?”

   Hermione sighed, rubbing the side of her head for a moment. “Take a nap. And stay home for a few days,” she ordered. To Harry, she had always been a sister, someone who wanted to protect him even after Voldemort was dead. He was grateful for her concern, and she was right about everything she had said. As usual.

   “Draco will insist on it, trust me.” Despite the fact that the Slytherin would most likely be irate with him for so blindly dashing in to save the day, Harry could hardly wait to see him.

   She gave his hand a squeeze. “If you ever need anything, I’m a patronus message away.” Harry actually managed a nod and she walked from his hospital room, quietly closing the door on her way out.

   Left with nothing but free time, Harry nodded off for another nap. It wasn’t half as satisfying when Draco’s arms weren’t around him, but it would do. It was dreamless, and felt like he had only closed his eyes for a second.

   The hospital smelled of antiseptic trying desperately to cover up the stench of sickness. The stench of burning flesh down the hall reminded Harry of just how crucial Draco’s job was. Even before he had landed on his operating table, Draco had saved countless lives. Whenever Harry called him a hero, Draco called him a prat.

   The thoughts leisurely walked in and out of his mind as he was suspended somewhere between sleep and life. He was woken up by the sound of the door clicking open again.

   “Harry,” Draco breathed, his white Healer robes gusting behind him as he walked to embrace him. Burying his head into him, the pain felt almost numbing.

   “Sorry,” he murmured into his robes.

   Draco pulled back, keeping his hands welded tightly to his shoulders. “Damn right you are! Do you have any idea how scared I was?” The words spilled out of Draco, the rush of seeing him okay was almost too much. “If you ever, and I mean _ever_ , go on a suicide mission like that again, I will kill you myself! Do you hear me?”

   Harry laughed, which probably wasn’t the proper response. He stopped and looked apologetically into Draco’s grey eyes. “I know. I wasn’t thinking.”

   “You’ve got a brilliant head when you use it,” he uttered. “But that was so unbelievably stupid.” Draco always had his reservations about his love’s occupation, and how he worried that when he left in the morning there was a chance that he was walking straight into danger. Once again in his life, his fears had become reality.

   After pulling him in again for a quick kiss, Harry nodded. “I can’t help myself sometimes,” Harry started, and Draco took a seat on the side of his bed. “It’s a part of who I am. The hypervigilance, I was raised on it and lived in it for most of my life. I think it’s sort of a compulsion. Next time, I’ll call for help.”

   Draco felt a little shell-shocked. Harry usually hated talking about his war flashbacks, feeling ashamed that he even had them. Quietly, the Slytherin had always suspected that he suffered from post-traumatic stress disorder, but the one time he tried to bring it up turned into a scathing argument. Then again, all of their domestics seemed to escalate into World War III. “Maybe,” he said quietly. “You could talk to someone about it. Someone qualified.”

   Harry’s jaw hardened. “I don’t want to.” Draco understood entirely. He was far too proud to ever accept help himself, he shouldn’t have expected Harry to react any differently.

   “And I don’t want to see you hurt yourself because you think a store clerk is a Death Eater.” Draco took his hand, playing with his fingers absent-mindedly.

   “That was different,” he admitted. “But this, this was my job. I’m an Auror for fuck’s sake. I couldn’t watch as some master plan was being worked out right in front of my eyes. I’ll send for help next time, smoke signals if I have to, I promise.” Harry took the promise seriously, and hoped in the moment he’d be able to remember it. He gave Draco’s hand a tiny squeeze.

   Draco took a deep breath. “I am so glad you’re safe. I was the one who made you go out—“

   “No. No you weren’t. I walked out on my own free will, and I was about to come back when I saw it. It’s not your fault,” Harry said firmly. “I shouldn’t have pressed you about kids.”

   “I shouldn’t have pressed you about the prenup.”

   Harry ran a hand through his obscenely soft blonde hair. It felt so good to be touching him again. “Don’t worry about it. I know you trust me, and I know your father doesn’t. Soon he’s going to be my father-in-law… I’ll sign it.”

   “You don’t have to,” Draco said quickly. “You really don’t. You’re right about him holding it over my head.”

   “I’ll sign it.” Harry kissed him again. “I don’t plan on ever divorcing you, just so you know. It’ll just be a paper that sits in a file somewhere and collects dust.”

   “Even if I don’t want kids?” His voice was barely above a whisper.

   Harry frowned. “I mean, are you one-hundred percent sure you don’t want them? Or even one?”

   “I’m not saying it’s entirely out of the question,” Draco mumbled as he wriggled in next to Harry in the hospital bed. He took a deep breath, preparing himself for what he was going to say. “I think I’d be a horrible father.”

   “No,” he responded, lightning-fast.

   “So you think I should be in charge of some wriggling little life? What if they needed advice, or got into Hufflepuff? I would mess it up worse than my father did.” Draco’s tone was bitter and it sounded like the words tasted foul his mouth.

   Harry put his fingers to Draco’s wrist, sliding them up to join their hands again. “Draco… You are nothing like your father,” he said softly. “The fact that you’re even worried about the kid’s wellbeing shows that you’re on the right track. I think you’re not giving yourself enough credit.”

   “I think you’re giving me too much credit,” he laughed. “I spent twenty galleons on a box of erotic chocolates today because I was feeling lonely and bored. Can you imagine _me_ with children? Honestly?”

   “Honestly? Yes. You’re a part of my future, and I really do want kids… I think you could make an amazing father. Not today, not tomorrow, but in the future. I really don’t want to pressure you, that’s the last thing I want, but you have to know that I want to have a family of my own one day. Of _our_ own,” Harry corrected. “Sorry, I’m rambling.”

   “It’s fine,” Draco said, watching Harry fill the space between his fingers. “I just don’t know if I can do it. I don’t know if I can deal with the responsibility or the pressure. That might change, but right now that’s my answer. I don’t want you to be disappointed later on, or angry with me from stopping your goals of fatherhood or whatever you find so appealing about it, so that’s my answer for now. That I don’t know if I can, but it’s not impossible.”

   There was a moment of silence as Harry weighed his options. He’d never loved someone the way he loved Draco, and never felt such an immediate bond like the one the two shared in St. Mungo’s after his tumble from the sky. Now, they were in a room down the hall from where the old one was. On the other hand, all he had wanted from a young age was a family to call his own. The Dursleys had been cruel, and Harry knew that any child he had would be loved unconditionally. There was a huge doubt in his mind that he could let go of that dream up for Draco’s sake. But he couldn’t give up so easily, it wasn’t in his nature. Neither was leaving something that made him feel so good. “I…” he said slowly. “I can work with those odds.” They were still young. He’d have years to build Draco’s parenting esteem upwards, and if worst came to worst… At least they were signing a prenup.

******

   Pansy Parkinson had never been particularly good at introductions. She preferred easing her way into people’s lives through rumors and a generally nasty reputation. That way, people could fear her and in turn listen to her without even needing to shake their grubby hand. However, the woman she was working with clearly had no idea who she was from the second she walked into the hospital doors.

   “Can I help you?” she asked from the steps of the hospital apparation zone, lifting her mess of red curls up and snubbing out her cigarette. St. Mungo’s had wards to protect from any unwelcome visitors, but left the front steps open for the bustle of magical traffic along with some fireplaces. The apparation zone was where medi-witches and medi-wizards ushered in their patients from an unmarked circle in the back with steps leading to the emergency room. “Are you authorized to be here?”

   “Yes,” Pansy said, walking forward. Draco had said she was cleared with hospital staff and would be training under the watchful eye of another medi-wizard before she went out into the field. She needed to refresh her memory of healing spells and learn hospital procedure before she did anything under the good name of St. Mungo’s. “Here I am. It _is_ my first day.” Pansy adjusted the line of her skirt.

   The woman on the steps looked her up and down, from her diamond hairclip, to her sparkly blue miniskirt, to her spiky heels. “Should a girl like you really be hanging around at a place like this, hon?” Her tone was scathing and skeptical at best.

   “Should a medi-witch like you be smoking tobacco?” she countered. For a second she thought she had offended the woman, royally screwing up her first day on the job before it had begun.

   Then, the woman laughed. It was the sort of laugh that a person’s whole body went into, her ribcage shaking and her hair bouncing with a life of its own. When she finally calmed down, Pansy’s mouth was wide open with shock. Not only was tobacco complete filth, but she was laughing about it. Pansy couldn’t tell if the laughter was at her or with her. “Oh, touché, Princess.”

   “Thank you for assuming that,” Pansy chirped happily, rather impressed with herself for giving off an imperial vibe so early on. “But I am not actually of royal decent. Unless you count French royalty, of which many of my late foremothers were among the upper crust of society.”

   Laughter sprang up on the woman again, and she stood slowly afterwards. “You’re a riot. I’m Maggie,” she said, outstretching a hand. “What exactly is your name, Your Highness?”

   “Pansy Parkinson,” she said proudly, daintily accepting Maggie’s rough handshake.

   “Never heard of you,” Maggie said flippantly. She moved to examine Pansy further, walking around in a circle as if she would see straight into her soul if she had a panoramic view. “You the new girl Draco sent for me to babysit?”

   Pansy raised her eyebrows in shock. Nobody had _ever_ been so brazen with her right from the start. “You aren’t _babysitting_ me.”

   “Right, I’m training and observing your behavior. So much different, a thousand apologies.” She grinned like a Cheshire cat.

   Pansy couldn’t stop staring at her hair. It was like a jungle of red twists of hair, all small-spun ringlets down to her shoulders. It shifted to frame her face whenever she walked, and it brought out her bright blue eyes. “Erm, so, yes. When do we get to the saving people part? That is most certainly what I came here for.”

   Maggie laughed again and Pansy considered shutting her up with a spell. “First, you need to change out of whatever the hell you’re wearing into something about ten times more practical.”

   “I picked this outfit out last night!” Pansy replied angrily.

   “Get a top you don’t mind getting dirty, a pair of pants you can move in, and swap the fuck-me heels for some trust-me-with-your-life flats,” she ordered.

   “I can both inspire trust and lust,” she insisted and Maggie let a snort run out of her. “What did you say your name was? Margaret?” Pansy was growing annoyed with the fact that the woman hadn’t even noticed she was annoyed. It was almost as if she didn’t care at all what she thought of her.

   “That’s actually my full name,” Maggie shrugged, not picking up on the subtle jab. “It’s too formal.”

   “Yes, _well_ , isn’t that so charming. I think this was a lapse in judgment, okay? So I’m just going to go—“

   Pansy was cut off by the shouting of a man from the door, waving his wand. “We have a code four at the Ministry! Get in the circle!” The man rushed down to meet them and Maggie grabbed Pansy’s arm to drag her in. The man looked wild with excitement, and two other medi-wizards joined them.

   “Too late,” she decided for Pansy.

   The spoiled heiress let out a dramatic sigh. “Fine, I’ll stay. What’s a code four?”

   Maggie smirked ear to ear. “A Scrofungulus outbreak! Highly contagious.” Her tone was most likely far too cheery for the occasion.

   “Ew.”

   “Oh, Princess. You’ve got a lot to learn.” It was true, and it was the last thing Pansy heard before the crack of their apparation.


	11. Bed Rest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry is on bed-rest, and Draco continues his planning.

**Chapter 11: Bed-Rest**

   The fact that his fiancée was on bed-rest did not stop Draco from going ahead with his wedding plans. Well, _their_ wedding plans. He was on a schedule, after all. That Wednesday afternoon, he found himself standing in the place where they were saying their ‘I do’s in August. He closed his eyes, breathing in the flowery aroma of the gardens. The sunset was at his back and he looked down the aisle, a envisioning his Perfect Wedding.

   “You look like you’re on the verge of owling Harry and marrying him right now,” Theodore laughed, walking down the aisle to meet him at the altar.

   “Do I?” Draco asked, his voice light and airy. He did another turn to get a full view of the location, taking in the rooftop that was sprawling with flora. With a swish of his wand, all of the carnations bloomed plum. “It’s going to be beautiful. Salazar, I am a genius.”

   Theo grinned, resting on the arch that the staff had set up to give Draco a preview of the ceremony space. “So have you seen enough lighting? Do we need to change the color of the sky?”

   “Only if entirely necessary,” Draco said seriously. Theo held back a snort. “Colin Creevey is coming to take some test shots. I am going to be showing off the photos for the rest of my life, they may as well be the best money can buy.”

   “Of course.” He hadn’t even heard what the Creevey kid was up to after Hogwarts, but Theo always assumed he was following that photography dream of his. Sure, he was twenty-five, but Theo couldn’t shake the image of the bouncy eleven-year-old with his golden curls.

   “You’ll never guess what, though.”

   “What?” Theo asked, his interest slightly piqued.

   “Harry finally agreed to sign the prenuptial agreement. Looks like my father will be forced to attend,” he announced cheerfully.

   His friend raised an eyebrow. “Harry gets knocked out for three days and suddenly he’s able to deal with Lucius’ dysfunctions? If you hadn’t already put a ring on it, I’d be telling you to marry him.”

   “My father is not dysfunctional.” Draco had no idea why he was defending him to Theo, it might have been instinct and it might have been to ward off thoughts of Theodore’s own father.

   “Sure he’s not,” Theo laughed, trying to avoid the subject of parents as best as he could. “But Harry is actually willing to deal with all of that legal bullshit?”

   Draco nodded. “Apparently so. He said he knew it wasn’t that I had a problem trusting him, but that my father did. It was all very insightful and mature and we talked for hours at the hospital. Then, we went home and sucked each other off. It’s really the perfect way to start off a week of consciousness.” Draco let out a happy sigh and Theo had to restrain himself from rolling his eyes. He was happy for his best mate, but seeing him turn into a total sap was not on his list of top ten fun things to be doing that night. “Alright,” Draco started. “I’m going to check out their menu options and when I come back you better have wiped that look of your face.”

   “What look?”

   “The you-are-a-sentimental-git look. If anyone here is sentimental, it’s Harry.”

   “You both are,” Theodore said with a cheeky grin. “Another thing you two lovebirds have in common.”

   “Prat,” he said fondly, walking back down the aisle and to the stairs.

   “Love you too!” Theo shouted after him. He crossed his ankles and stared down at his shoes. Involuntarily, his mind went back to the one topic that seemed to haunt him. It stayed in the corners of his mind until he was alone, then it sprang up by surprise. Theodore Nott wore his past on him like a cloak. It was heavy and black like tar, dripping down his tall frame.

   Most of that past had been hidden until his father’s public hearing. As a self-proclaimed Death Eater and murderer extraordinaire, he had two options: Azkaban or death. Many had testified that Marcus Nott deserved the death penalty, and it seemed that the trial was almost over. It was character witness after character witness saying so, until at the very bottom of the list, his at the time eighteen-year-old son took the stand.

   Theodore had been dressed to the nines. He had memorized and re-memorized his speech again and again in his mirror, practiced it in front of Draco until it was perfect. He sat down in front of the flash of cameras and the wizarding world held its collective breaths. He went on to list every single death his father was responsible for, including his own mother much to the shock of the courtroom audience, recounted every horror he had been put through as a child, and calmly looked to the judge and said the words that made him a press sensation:

   ‘Death is far too merciful.’

   The elder Nott wound up being sentenced to a lifetime of confinement in Azkaban.

   Overnight, people had taken it as a rally cry. To Theodore, it had been justice for a man who murdered his own wife in front of his son, the reason he saw thestrals while the other children couldn’t. To the revenge-hungry public, it was their slogan. People put it on t-shirts, made buttons, sewed it onto their clothes, and even made a line of messenger bags.

   Those words still hung over him like the unread letters from the prison that he burned whenever he received them. Theo had moved on in his career in spite of the mass of media attention surrounding him, and the multiple ‘tell-all’ books being published about his life.

   When the tips of his shoes became uninteresting again and he looked up from his usual brooding, he noticed someone was standing at the end of the aisle. His blonde hair came down to his chin, wavy like some surfer Theo had once seen while vacationing in Hawaii. He was wearing a pair of muggle jeans, a loose button-down, and looked rather out of place in his country club surroundings.

   “Er, hi,” he said, giving a nervous little wave.

   “Hello,” Theo greeted, standing up straight. He couldn’t have been an employee; they all had formal clothes on. He examined the other man carefully until he noticed the camera in his hand. His jaw almost made contact with the rose petal covered floor. “Holy shit.”

   “Wait, what’s wrong?” the man asked, shifting in place.

   “You! I can’t even believe…” he could hardly wrap his mind around it. “ _You’re_ Colin Creevey?”

   Colin stared at him strangely. “Yeah, I am. Why? Did Draco cancel or something?”

   “No, he’s looking at food or whatever downstairs. But _you_ , you’re…” He definitely didn’t want to finish that sentence with ‘hot’ and quickly realized he was coming off as a complete maniac. The years had been insanely generous to the boy who hid behind the camera. It was practically unfair.

   “I’m here,” he said as if that was how the sentence actually ended.

   “Yes,” Theodore accepted quickly. “That you are. Sorry, I was just thinking, absorbed in my own brain and all. You sort of shocked me. How long have you been standing there?”

   The blonde’s cheeks flushed like he was in some goddamn cliché muggle cartoon or something, and Theo thought he was going to start going mad. It was _Colin Creevey_ ; forever frozen in his brain as a spunky little Gryffindor boy. Now was a helluva time to start feeling any differently. “Not long,” Colin said quickly. “Don’t worry about it. When’s Draco coming back? I really only have an hour.”

   “Probably soon,” Theo assured him despite the fact that his best mate was prone to flights of fancy at any time, especially in a place so decadent. Then he remembered something. “Oh, wow, sorry, I forgot to introduce myself. I mean, not that I need to. We’ve met before. In school. You were in the year below me, I was in Draco and Harry’s year, and—“

   “I know who you are,” Colin said with a smile. It shouldn’t have been a shock; everyone who hadn’t been living under a rock knew who he was. “You’re Theodore Nott. You own that potions place in Diagon Alley.”

   Of all the things to be recognized for, Theo had rarely been recognized for actual personal achievements. “Yeah, I do,” he smiled. “My friends call me Theo. You still up to your, you know, camera stuff?” He wanted to smack himself for being so inarticulate. Theo had talked loads of attractive men in clubs, bars, laundromats, parks, and once even in the bed of a truck full of hay. That had been a strange Halloween. Point being, he was usually smooth. He’d had everything from serious boyfriends to one-night stands and he was tripping over his words while talking to Colin Creevey.

   Colin kept that smile on his face, like it was genuinely delightful that his passion had been called ‘camera stuff’. “Still up to it! I’m a photographer for The Quibbler, and I have galleries for my featured photos,” he went on. “I’ve been at it since I left Hogwarts.”

   Theodore was about to say something very stupid like ‘awesome’ or ‘cool’ when Draco saved him. “Colin! There you are. Can you get some shots in this light? It’ll be around this time of day when I get married and I want to see how they come out.” Draco had a menu in his left hand, and in his right a sample beef kebab. He took a bite out of it, tipping his head back a little at the taste. He savored it before looking back to Colin.

    “Sure,” the younger man replied, setting about finding a good place to set up his camera.

    Theo walked to Draco’s side and shook his head. “It’s really a wonder what happens to people who don’t peak in school,” Draco sighed happily.

   “Gryffophile,” Theo accused.

   “Oh, yes, because _your_ eyes are firmly cemented in your head right now,” he countered.

   Theo gave him a look. “You’re mental.” Draco simply shrugged. “Did you hire him just because you wanted eye candy? You’re going to be a married man soon, darling.”

   “I hired him because he’s very talented at what he does. That, and looking good has never hurt someone before. Maybe _you’ve_ just got a thing for blondes.” Draco gave him a mischievous look and all Theo could do was stand around like a mute.

   By the time Colin had gotten all of the correct angles and listened to Draco’s fifteen minute speech about the layout of the wedding along with the recording he wanted, the hour was up.

   “I’ll meet with you again when Harry and I have our dressrobes to make sure the camera captures them correctly,” Draco said as he shook his hand goodbye. The sight would have been a borderline miracle back in school, when Draco refused to go within five feet of muggleborns. His attitudes towards muggleborns had changed drastically, but his opinions on muggles themselves were too deeply rooted to rip up in a few years.

   “Is that really necessary?” Colin asked, met only with a pleasant nod. “Alright, see you then.”

   Theodore had been too distracted by him walking away in those damned jeans to even remember a simple ‘later’.

******

   After Draco’s escapades at his venue, he found himself back home. He busied himself with dinner, while Harry sat on the couch. They’d thrown out most of his ‘get well’ cards, but Draco kept the chocolate. He was never one to turn down sympathy candy after running a test on them for various potions and poisons.

   “You know, I can stand up without perishing,” Harry told him, shifting under the massive amounts of pillows piled around him.

   Draco shook his head. “Doesn’t matter, you’re staying right there.” He sampled the marinara sauce and stirred the linguini noodles again.

   “I’ve stayed here all day. I’m getting cabin fever. I may be going crazy.” It was impossible for Harry to sit still, especially while his case was still going on. Ron had taken over the bulk of it after Harry had described the Madam to a sketch artist, but he wished he was out there with him. “If I watch one more episode of Planet Earth my head might explode.”

   “Then turn the damned thing off,” Draco suggested. Harry’s affinity for muggle devices was charming to a point. That point involved trying to teach him how to use a ‘computer’ or subjecting him to the mindless drivel of a television. Some of the programs Draco found interesting, but would never admit it. Most of their channels broadcast muggle news or sports, which he understood none of. Harry grabbed the remote and hit the power button. The television went dark and Draco smiled. “Now was that so hard?”

   He was fed up with the frankly obscene amount of cushions piled on his neck and Harry stood up, watching them fall around him. “Dinner almost done?”

   “Harry Potter, you sit your cute arse back down on that sofa this _instant_ ,” Draco commanded.

   Ignoring his fiancée’s order entirely, he sauntered over to their kitchen counter. “You think my arse is cute?” he laughed.

   “I think many things about your arse,” Draco said, shaking his wooden spoon at him. “In many positions and many locations. Now rest your head.”

   “My head is rested.” The charmed timer went off, signaling that the food was now edible, and the Slytherin gave up on trying to convince him. Draco strained the pasta and prepared two plates. After years of watching house elves prepare things for him, he’d learned a few tricks of the trade.

   Harry set the table out of habit, laying out napkins and forks. He sat opposite of Draco as he placed the food down on the table along with a loaf of bread and grated cheese. Their bare feet brushed together under the table.

   “Kingsley says I can go back to the case next week,” Harry said, breaking himself off a piece of the bread.

   Draco couldn’t hide his discomfort with the idea. “Then Ron better take good care of you. I like all of your organs and bits where they are right now,” Draco informed him.

   “I cannot actually believe you are calling each other by your first names,” Harry said. “It’s like I’m living in the Twilight Zone.”

   “Yes, yes,” Draco waved his excitement away and twisted a forkful of spaghetti around on his plate, the Twilight Zone reference flying right over his head. “Ronald and I had a little chat. We’ve decided we’re going to drop the last names and pretend to be civil to each other –for your sake— until we can actually accomplish it. A fake it until you make it sort of deal.”

   It was close enough for Harry, and a larger step than his best mate and his love had ever taken before. “Thank you,” he said, trying to find a way to show him how much it meant to him.

   “He _is_ your best man. I figured after an embarrassing speech in front of all of our guests, Ron Weasley and I are bonded for life in another strange way. It disturbs me, but I do it for you,” Draco lamented.

   Harry laughed softly, imagining what Ron would say when it came his time to make a speech. No doubt whatever Theo had to say would make Draco crumple to the floor and curse the day he was ever born. It might even make him blush. Narcissa and Lucius would have to cover their ears either way. “That means even more Weasley sweaters for Christmas,” Harry teased. He knew how much Draco liked the first one, despite the fact that he would never admit it.

   “Molly happens to use a wonderfully soft set of yarn. That’s all,” Draco defended. The Gryffindor chuckled again and ran his foot up to Draco’s ankle under the table.

   “Oh, no. You _like_ the Weasleys. You resisted all you could, but you are starting to _like_ them.”

   Draco couldn’t think of anything better to say than: “Shut up.”

   “Keep it to yourself all you like,” Harry teased. “They like you too. Now that Ron is being more supportive, you’ve got all of them on your side.”

   “Even his lovely wife and sister?”

   “Ginny doesn’t really _dis_ like you; she only wants to protect me. Hermione feels the same way, too.  I mean, you apologized a while ago, but you sort of were relentless to them in school,” Harry reminded him.

   “I remember,” he muttered, forking another mouthful of spaghetti off of his plate.

   “Anyway, since I was trapped in the flat all day, I got to go through RSVPs. It looks like everyone has sent them back saying they can come. Even your parents.”

   Draco let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Father will probably be setting up a meeting with the lawyers soon,” he replied quietly.

   “That’s fine,” Harry told him, trying to make it look like it wasn’t a big deal. Dividing up their assets would not be enjoyable in the least, but he knew it was necessary at this point. Maybe he could even have a real conversation with Lucius. It was that sort of week.

   In a rare moment of vulnerability, Draco looked up from behind his long eyelashes. “I am so lucky to have you.”

   “Nah,” Harry said, entirely in favor of being soppy. “I’m the lucky one.”

   “Salazar. We are going to turn into Hufflepuffs,” Draco laughed. “We’ll start making friendship bracelets for everyone and braiding each other’s hair. Quick, do something idiotically courageous so I can yell at you.”

   “Only after we finish our fifth commitment ceremony of the day,” Harry joked.

   Draco shook his head and smiled, finishing up the last of his spaghetti. Commitment ceremonies and civil unions made him gag. It felt like drinking out of the muggleborn water fountain that the Ministry used to have. “Have you started writing your vows?” he asked offhandedly.

   “Er.”

   “What _have_ you been doing all day?”

   “Watching Planet Earth and drowning in blankets,” Harry stated factually.

   Draco rolled his eyes. “You should start soon, or at least do some brainstorming. It’s going to be on tape and forever. No pressure.”

   “I’ll come up with something,” he assured him. It would most likely be the most cloying and mushy thing Harry had ever written, and he looked forward to being the most embarrassing husband of all time.

   “So,” Draco proposed casually, tracing a finger along the rim of his glass. “You are on bed rest, correct? Why don’t you get in bed?”

   It took Harry a second to realize what he was talking about. “Oh. _Oh_. Yes, I definitely should do that.” He got up so fast he tripped a little, and pushed his chair back in. He made his way to their bedroom eagerly. When he closed the door he could hear Draco running the dishes through the sink.

   He stripped off his baggy t-shirt and jeans with ease, having worn his most comfortable pair that day. He tossed them in the hamper along with his pants. His glasses of his got their own spot next to the bed on the nightstand, and Harry reached into one of the drawers for their bottle of watermelon-flavored lubricant. They’d bought it one night as a joke, but quickly found they were hooked. It warmed when spread on skin, and stimulated all kinds of temperature play.

   Now naked, Harry moved to the center of the bed and relaxed. Draco loved nothing more than to make him wait, and the anticipation made Harry squirm. He popped open the bottle of lubricant and dipped a finger in. It tingled on his skin the second it made contact.

   Slowly, he began to slide the wet finger down his perineum to make circles around his tight hole. He relaxed and eased into the teasing sensation as his cock hardened. Once he was hot and bothered, it seemed like he had spent an eternity waiting for Draco.

   By the time that Draco ambled into the room, Harry was already whimpering with need. “Bad boy, starting without me,” he reprimanded, drawing his wand out of his pocket. Harry immediately lifted his hands up innocently. With one flick of Draco’s wand, black silk ties appeared to bind his wrists to opposite sides of the headboard. “Now maybe you’ll stay where I tell you to.”

   Harry licked his lips, testing the restraints. He desperately wanted to touch Draco, but he could settle for watching him disrobe. Draco moved his t-shirt slowly upwards, exposing everything from his toned abdomen and up. When he got the fabric over his shoulders, he tossed the shirt to the floor. He undid the button of his trousers and slipped them over his hipbones and off of his ankles.

   Draco’s pants were the last thing to go, pooling down at his feet as he stepped out of them. “ _Draco_ ,” Harry said beneath his breath, taking in every inch of his naked body. The only thing on him was the engagement ring.

   “Yes?” he asked innocently, climbing on the bed and in between Harry’s parted thighs.

   “I want you.”

   “Oh, I can tell,” Draco smirked, rubbing the base of his erect shaft. Harry let out a hiss at the contact, pushing his hips up. Just as quickly as the fingers were there, they were gone. “Am I going to have to keep your legs down too?”

   Harry shook his head no, breathless. Draco resumed his light strokes and Harry gripped onto his wrist ties. The silk bit into his skin and he tipped his head back into the contradicting sensations. He let out a moan when he felt Draco’s tongue tracing paths on his thighs, teasing and nipping at him.

   “You used the watermelon flavored one?” he asked, noticing the bottle at his hips.

   “Yeah,” Harry managed, trying to find purchase with the bonds.

   “Mm, practically asking for me to open you with my tongue.” Draco’s tongue licked a stripe up his arse, the warm salve coating his tongue. The watermelon taste was almost sour, and made him all the more eager to lap it up.

   Harry tried his best not to thrust back onto Draco’s mouth when his firm tongue pushed into him. He tugged at the silk and let out a groan. Draco continued his onslaught, his hands firmly keeping Harry’s hips from thrusting while he continued to snog his pink little hole. He could feel himself coming apart at the seams as he tried not to scream when the Slytherin tugged at the dark tuft of hair above his groin.

   Draco slipped in a finger along with his tongue and Harry let out a strangled cry. “Fuck, please,” he begged. “ _Please_.”

   “’Please’ what?” Draco demanded, breathing ragged and mouth covered in lubricant.

   “Please fuck me,” Harry yelled out, giving the bonds a hard tug.

   “Of course.” Never one to disappoint, Draco moved his fiancée’s legs over his shoulders. He sank into him with a grunt, watching as Harry writhed beneath him. His back arched and he leaned as far onto Draco’s cock as the fetters would allow him.

   The mix of pain and pleasure was a cocktail that Harry was happy to drink down. As Draco pushed in and out of him, he felt the heat erupt in his stomach, seeping out to the rest of his body. “Draco,” he gasped out, his ankles moving in towards his neck as Harry’s feet flexed out. Nevertheless, the blonde’s grip was like iron, his hands on the top of his thighs keeping them thrusting together.

   Strangled shouts escaped Draco’s throat, like the noises were being ripped from him. His ears rang with the sounds of both of their cries. He pushed in unrelentingly. It hadn’t come as a shock to him that the Chosen One liked it rough. He just didn’t expect him to submit so easily. In the end, it made sense. Harry was burdened with power, having to make life or death decisions every day since his school-years. On the other hand, Draco never had any choice in what happened with his life. He felt utterly powerless.

   Together, they were a conglomeration of issues and neuroses that somehow fit like puzzle pieces. Neither of them thought about how well their baggage went together often, as it wasn’t a very popular topic, but they were glad that it did.

   “Harry, _my_ Harry,” Draco growled, shoving with all of his strength. He knew they were both close and intended to hit their climaxes with a bang.

   “Yours,” he breathed, the restraints bore into his skin and threatened to snap as the bed let out an unceremonious creak. All it took was one more thrust and they both came at once, their bodies shaking in euphoria.

   Draco unhooked Harry’s legs from his shoulder and slid in between them, coming to rest at his side with their feet twisted together. They were covered in lube, sweat, and come, but it didn’t matter. Draco kissed him anyway, even if it was sloppy. He continued to pump kisses from him until Harry shook his bonds.

   “You going to keep me like this all night?” he asked after catching his breath, not sure which answer he wanted to hear.

   “We’ll see,” Draco said, giving his neck a kiss. “If your arms are getting tired, you could always turn over.”

   Harry smiled blissfully. “I think we just may have to do that.”

   A matching smile spread on Draco’s face and he reached for his wand. They were in for a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again! Lots of love for you all. I solemnly swear I will make everyone in this world ship Tholin.


	12. Legal Matters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucius was never letting Draco get out of this the easy way.

**Chapter 12: Spouse**

   It was days like this that reminded Draco why he became a Healer. A little boy had come in with severe blood loss from a fruit slicing spell gone wrong, and by the end of the transplant Draco was bathed in sweat. The boy’s mother stood in the lobby helplessly, crying onto her sister. It had taken two units of AB blood, five Healers, and far too many hours to bring his vitals back up.

   In the end, what mattered was that he was okay. Draco added it to the mental list of people he had helped, hoping that one day it would outweigh the number of people he hurt. He’d been a healer for five years, but he’d been an insufferable purist since he could talk. That part of him died a slow death after the final battle, taking years for him to fully accept the negative role he had played in so many people’s lives.

   One of Draco’s greatest downfalls was how stuck in his head he was. His friends were that way too, so it was no real surprise. When people stared at him, he imagined them pointing out every one of his flaws, picking at him until he was a pile of skin. When he received owls he always took the tone to be much more vitriolic and angry than it actually was, and had sent back some fuming replies to virtually innocent letters. When he saw people laughing, he assumed it was about him. It was a part of his fortress he’d built around himself. It was always better for him to assume the worst and be pleasantly surprised when it wasn’t true.

   He convinced himself to live in the moment and out of his mind when he strode out of the emergency room and over to the crying mother. Her eyes were wide with horror.

   “Ma’am,” he said softly, removing his white gloves that were stained in red. “The blood transfusion was a success. Your son is unconscious at the moment, but we believe he’s going to be just fine.”

   After leading her to the room, now sobbing tears of joy, Draco stood by the window and watched. She ran to her son and kissed his head over and over, clinging to him like he was her last hope in the world. Maybe he was; Draco had no idea what her life was like. For a moment, Draco tried to imagine himself in her position. Him and Harry distraught in a hospital waiting room and how they’d react when they were told their son or daughter was going to be healthy again. Harry would probably cry, and as much as Draco hated to admit it, he most likely would too. The idea of putting so much effort and love into something so breakable made him even more scared. He had seen how parents reacted when the child was too injured to go on.

   Draco looked down at his robes and realized he desperately needed to get clean. Even his usually immaculate hair was mussed like he’d just taken a romp rather than save a life. He’d worked overtime that day, and was more than ready to go home and slide into the tub.

   Of course, until he heard a name he refused to answer to being called from across the lobby. “Drakey! Drakey!” The voice moved closer and got progressively more irritating. He held his ground, staying firmly planted until he could practically hear her breathing down his neck.

   “Don’t. Call. Me. That. Especially not at work. What is it, Pansy?” he sighed, turning to face her. Much to Draco’s surprise, Pansy actually looked like a medi-witch. Her jeans were designer, her shirt was flashy, and her boots were still an inch tall, but she looked eerily professional. It was as if someone had mixed her style with Maggie’s.

    “It’s nothing! Can’t two _coworkers_ say hello,” she said, stretching out the word. Pansy was clearly eager to be using it.

   “Not when I am indecently disgusting, no.” Draco tossed the bloody gloves in a nearby trash bin. Even his wand would need a thorough washing. “What the hell are you so happy about?”

   Pansy linked her arm in with his in spite of his currently soiled attire as they walked towards the locker-room together. “ _I_ was the one who did it. The one who brought that kid in,” she beamed with pride. “Maggie has started letting me do runs all on my own since I caught on so fast. I think I’m really doing well.”

   “That’s wonderful to hear,” Draco said honestly. It was sure better than listening to her babble on about who was dating who in the upper pureblood circles. If he had to hear about the Greengrass sisters and their on-again-off-again relationships one more time, he was going to hex someone.

   “Plus, I’ve been learning _so_ much about the human body. Did you know you can burn up to 150 calories every thirty minutes of sex?”

   They chatted about the logistics of replacing exercise altogether until they reached the door to the men’s locker-room. “You can’t exactly follow me in, Pansy. I doubt the other Healers will understand why you insist on looking at half-naked gay men.”

   “I wasn’t planning on it,” she stated. “I’m not even going in the women’s one yet. In fact, I think I’m taking an extra shift.”

   Draco looked at her in confusion. “You realize you’re not getting paid until next month, right?”

   “Right.”

   “Only a week ago I had to hide firewhiskey from you,” he reminded her.

   “I’m a very adaptable person,” Pansy protested with a little pout.

   “Says the girl who refuses to use the new branch of Madam Malkin’s, hates all the new flavors of Bertie Botts, and will only marry a Slytherin.”

   She rolled her eyes. “Whatever. I’ll see you tomorrow,” she reminded him as she wheeled around and her hair whipped behind her. It would definitely take some getting used to for Draco to see Pansy at work every day. The whole thing was yet another adjustment he had made in his life over the past few weeks.

   He closed the door behind him and went about changing with the knowledge that he’d only wind up taking the clothes off again when he got home.

******

   Harry shifted uncomfortably on the couch, the case file in his hand. There had to be something he was missing, something he was— ouch. Being with Draco had some intensely appealing upsides, but some unfortunate downsides for his backside. He’d owled his fiancée earlier in the day to pick up a pain potion, but he had owled back saying he would probably be stuck in overtime again.

   So Harry was left to try and find a comfortable position to sit in while focusing on the trespassers-turned-murderers. They had mentioned ‘brothers and sisters’ like they were a part of some organization. Harry had his fill of organized criminal gangs from his school years, but the case still had to be solved.

   Ron and he had no idea where they would break into next, or what spell Damien had gotten killed for suggesting to sell. The only thing they were sure of was the motivation of revenge. Someone had wronged them, and they were working their way up to exact their vengeance.

   The whole thing made Harry’s head hurt again, with so little to go on. At least they had uncovered the inklings of a plan before it actually happened.

   Even on his sofa, he had requested the Ministry’s database on known wizarding gangs that called their members siblings, but so far nothing quite lined up. Maybe she had meant actual brothers and sisters? He had owled Kingsley for a list of family murders in the past years, but was met only with a brusque: ‘Get some rest, Potter.’

   To be honest, he was miserable with resting. Harry had watched every television broadcast that week and even tried to watch muggle football, even though he ended up not understanding the rules. His head hurt too much to read, and he had even grown bored of wanking. All that Harry had was the damned case and whatever wedding things he could get done.

   He had drafted three versions of his vows and wound up scrapping all of them. None of them really said what he wanted to say. The words were somewhere in the hurricane around him, and when Draco touched him it was like he was in the eye of the storm. He saw everything clearly when Draco was near him, but he couldn’t exactly ask if he could pull out a quill while they were shagging.

   So instead, Harry immersed himself in his work.

   What really didn’t make sense is why they had let him live. If they were so ready and willing to slaughter one of their own, why would they let an Auror become a loose end? Especially _Harry Potter_. He was recognizable from the scar that still lingered on his forehead, plus he had even been wearing his circular glasses that night. Harry’s hospitalization had caused a media stir, but his murder would have caused a hailstorm.

   They weren’t looking for publicity just yet, which was a good sign. Harry knew that could change at any second if their lust for revenge ever grew any hungrier. He could feel the grains of sand running down the hourglass as he sat there surrounded by files, his aching arse begging him to go lie down.

   Just as he was going to do just that, he heard someone fumbling with the lock. “Draco,” he called, taking big strides towards the door. “Please tell me you go that potion, because it’s really not okay for you to be a sex god if you don’t at least—“

   Harry’s voice died in his throat when he opened the door, realizing he was staring dead into Lucius Malfoy’s face.

   “Oh, Merlin.” He definitely hadn’t been expecting that.

   Lucius gave him a calculated look, and Harry noticed the two austerely dressed witches behind him. The elder Malfoy cleared his throat. “Is that any way to greet your future father-in-law?”

   “Erm. No, sorry, come in.” Harry held the door open and the three entered the flat. Immediately, Lucius began nipping at the little flaws in his mind. The mess of files, the unclosed cabinets, the buzz of the muggle television… Harry quickly turned it off and watched as the BBC World News went black. “I wasn’t expecting you. Did you tell Draco you would be here…?”

   “No,” Lucius said in an even tone, taking off his coat and handing it to Harry for him to hang up. The Gryffindor simply tossed it onto the couch. “He’s usually done with work at this time of day, correct?”

   Harry didn’t quite understand what was going on. “Yes, but he’s working overtime right now.” He turned to the two women behind Lucius. They looked disturbingly similar excepting their height. The one on the left was short and stocky, while the one on the right was tall and lanky; like they were stretched out or squished versions of the same woman. Their facial features and ratty brown hair spoke of a family resemblance. “Excuse me, but who exactly are you?”

   Rather than letting them answer for themselves, Lucius cut in. “They’re the Bagley sisters; two top-notch lawyers that have been with my family since Draco was born. I’m sure you’ve heard of them.”

   “Actually, I haven’t,” Harry said honestly. The shorter woman raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure they’re the best money can buy, but why exactly are they here with you?”

   Lucius gave him the look that Draco usually did when he was surprised Harry wasn’t catching on to something. It was genuinely terrifying and Harry thought back to the many moments in movies when someone said: ‘This is what you’ll be getting in thirty years’ when talking to a bride-to-be. “They’re here for the prenuptial agreement. No son of mine will be signing it unless his assets are secured properly,” Lucius informed him. Harry swallowed back his surprise.

   “I didn’t realize that was tonight.”

   “It wasn’t scheduled, but I’m sure with your current state of lassitude you wouldn’t have much else to do,” Lucius jabbed neatly.

   “It’s not really lassitude, I was in a coma—“

   “Yes, yes. You were injured trying to save the world once again. Thank Salazar you are the only thing standing between us citizens and evildoers.” Lucius’ cane thumped on the wooden floor as he observed their living space and Harry felt like he was being violated somehow.

   “I was only doing my job,” he replied flatly, trying to ignore the daggers that Lucius’ lawyers were staring at him.

   The man let out a short laugh. “Your job, I see. Thank goodness someone offers payment for running into danger at random; otherwise you’d be waiting for my son to come home every day. Then again, maybe my original dream of him having a housewife will come true,” Lucius drawled.

   “I don’t think you realize you’re in _our_ home right now, but I don’t bloody well appreciate—“ Harry started, cut off by the sound of the door opening.

   “Were three owls really necessary? I have the damned potions. You really are such a pain in the arse when you have pain in your arse,” Draco complained, coming in loudly having expecting to find his fiancée alone. “What…?” he trailed off when the strange gathering of people in their living room.

   “Draco,” Lucius greeted him. If he had understood what his son’s entrance line had meant, he was doing the smart thing and ignoring it entirely. “Please, take a seat at what I imagine is your kitchen table. It is rather small.”

   Draco put the bag of potions on the counter and nervously shed his coat. “Is this some kind of intervention?”

   “No,” Harry laughed, appreciating the dry humor Draco always seemed to find in everything. “Your father sort of just walked in. With the Bagel-y sisters.”

   “Bagley,” the tall one corrected.

   “You _called the lawyers_?” Draco hissed at his father. “I thought we talked about this.”

   “Draco, sit down. This was their only free opportunity this week, and I took it for you.”

   The younger Malfoy held down a scowl. “I didn’t exactly ask for them.”

   “I know,” Harry said quietly. It was clearly another one of Lucius’ slippery power plays, and he figured they may as well get it over sooner or later. “It’s fine.” Harry took his usual seat at the table.

   Draco still looked a little more than wary when he sat next to his father and somber lawyers on the opposite side of the table.

   “Let us begin,” the shorter woman said sternly. “I have both of your full names, and the abbreviations in the agreement will be Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Potter—“

   “We’ll be hyphenating in the future, though,” Harry spoke and quickly realized it was out of turn.

   “Well, I’m sure you will remember which was which before you married should you ever need a divorce,” the tall Bagley replied. “Next, we will fill in the additional reason for completing this document.”

   Draco was regretting this. To make matters worse, his father began to talk. “I have already drafted that reason.” He took a piece of parchment out of one of his gold-lined pockets. “ _To ensure that the respective fortunes of the Malfoy and Potter families should not fall to the other spouse should the couple request a divorce or annulment_ ,” he read aloud.

   For some reason, Harry felt that his parents wouldn’t approve of all of this nonsense. They had never needed a prenuptial. “Next, will property acquired before the marriage remain separate property?” the shorter woman asked.

   “Yes,” Lucius answered for them. Harry and Draco exchanged uneasy looks. “I am merely trying to protect you, Draco.”

   Draco mustered all the confidence he could. “It won’t be necessary. This is entirely for your benefit, I intend to be married to Harry for my whole life,” he said. Harry smiled for the first time that night.

   “Will properties acquired after the marriage remain separate property?”

   “No,” Harry said before his fiancée’s father could stop him. “If we buy a house together, it’s ours.”

   “And who does it go to when you get a divorce?” Lucius prodded.

   His son let out a shaky breath. “We are not going to get a divorce. If we ever do, we’ll settle the properties ourselves, okay? We’re already both tenants in the agreement for this flat,” Draco explained. For once, Lucius kept quiet. He was picking his battles carefully that night.

   The thin sister continued. “Would you like to define housing arrangements?”

   “We’re staying in the same house,” Draco muttered, upset that his father had dragged this on him after such a hard day at work.

   “It’s not a matter of residence,” the lawyer informed them. “Is your current home rented or owned?”

   “Rented,” Harry answered. It was a penthouse suite, and he was rather proud of it, but he held his tongue on the fact that they would probably move out and buy a house together at some point.

   “Who is responsible for the expenses?” The lawyers’ quills were working overtime trying to get all the information down. At least by the end of the night, Harry and Draco could just sign the damned thing and be done with it.

   Draco hated even justifying that question with an answer. “We split it evenly.”

   “Will each of your earnings be considered separate property?”

   “Yes,” Lucius responded again. Draco gave him an exasperated look. “You make quite a great deal of galleons as a Healer. Those should all be yours in your vault. Potter can keep whatever he makes, too.”

   “Our salaries are about—“

   “Do you want to include any other provisions regarding the treatment of income?” the short sister questioned sharply. Harry leaned back in his chair, annoyed by the knack that the Malfoy family and its associates seemed to have for cutting him off.

   “I have something written on that as well,” Lucius said, reaching back into his pocket.

   “That won’t be necessary,” Draco interjected. “Just write down that whatever goes into our separate Gringotts accounts stay separate, but our joint account belongs evenly to the both of us.”

   Lucius’ eyes almost bugged out of his head he was so alarmed. “You have a _joint account_?”

   Ever since it had been made when they moved in together, Harry had been instructed to keep quiet about it. It was interesting seeing Draco be the one to reveal it. “How do you think we pay rent and other charges? We always go Dutch on dates.”

   His father was so shell-shocked that the lawyer had to proceed to the next section. “Then this joint account will be used to fund expenses along with your separate accounts?”

   “Yes,” the couple answered in tandem. They shared a private grin.

   “Might the parties be required to contribute additional funds to pay for unexpected expenses?”

   Harry furrowed his brow. “I suppose, yeah. That’s not a big deal, though,” he thought out loud. He had paid for Draco’s wand repair loads of times, just like Draco had paid for his broom maintenance before. It all evened out eventually.

   “Should funds be transferred to a joint savings account if the joint checking account exceeds a certain amount?” the lanky Bagley inquired. Harry was really starting to regret not taking the pain potion before sitting down for this long.

   “This is all so unnecessarily complicated,” Draco whined, resting his head on his hand.

   “It is entirely necessary, and the reason I will be coming to your wedding,” Lucius said sharply and tried to make sure Harry didn’t hear. The last thing he needed was a duel with the Auror of the Month. “Either way, I can amend my lists to include your secret joint account.”

   “It wasn’t a secret, I just didn’t tell you,” he said as calmly as he could. “What lists?”

   “We aided Mr. Malfoy in creating lists of what accounts will be paying for which expenses. Such as food, utilities, personal items, clothing, medical expenses, insurance…” the Bagley went on, allowing her sister to finish.

   “Phone, cable television, muggle credit cards, income taxes…”

   “Father, that has nothing to do with a divorce. Which we won’t even be getting. You can’t designate how we pay things,” Draco retorted. Even so, the list of monetary expenses was a little intimidating. Lucius seemed to be determined to suck the romance right out of the marriage.

   He let out a huff. “I want to make sure you won’t get robbed, or aren’t currently getting ripped off.”

   “I am _not_ ripping him off,” Harry snapped, feeling done with the entire process. “I love him.”

   “Potter, love doesn’t pay the bills.”

   “Moving on,” the plump Bagley hummed. “Do either of you have any lasting debts?”

   “No,” Draco sighed.

   “Then it’s time to specify how property will be divided in your divorce.”

   Draco felt like ripping his hair out. The next person who said the word divorce was getting jinxed for sure.

   When nobody actually bothered to interrupt her, she continued. “How will you settle child custody matters in the divorce?”

   Now he felt like ripping his entire scalp off. He was stressed beyond belief, and all he wanted to do was get in the damned bathtub. The last thing he needed to think about was the subject of children. Unfortunately, Harry seemed interested in a discussion. “What are our options?” the raven-haired man asked curiously.

   “Assuming both of your names will be on the certificates of guardianship, you can have many variations of joint custody. Do you both have equal interest in the custody of your future children?”

   The room became unsettlingly quiet. “Yeah, sure,” Harry lied. Draco simply shook his head.

   “Potter, you do realize the children you two have—if you even get to that point—will be the heirs of two massive fortunes and the legacy of the Malfoy heritage,” Lucius said tightly. Even he could sense the tension between the couple. “I would think you would have more to say on the matter.”

   Draco waved his hand as if to scatter his father’s words in the air. “Let’s not talk about this, okay? Joint custody if we even have kids,” Draco mumbled.

   “Okay—“ one of the Bagleys began, only to be cut off by Lucius.

   “ _If_ you have children? Draco, you are the last of the Malfoy and Black blood. Salazar knows that ex-convict cousin of your mother’s isn’t going to be producing puppies with the wolf anytime soon,” Lucius seethed.

   “Don’t you dare talk about Sirius and Remus like that!” Harry was putting his foot down if it killed him. “Not in our house. And if they had adopted children, they would be Lupins.”

   Lucius gave him a menacing smile. It would have chilled anyone else to the core, but Harry was feeling rather fired up. “Then I suppose it’s satisfactory to say that you won’t be adopting.”

   “You can’t tell me what to do with our kids,” Harry said, standing up.

   “Harry, please,” Draco murmured, putting his head in his hand. He was through with jokes and trying to downplay the damned prenuptial, he wanted to go to bed.

   “What, you’re just going to sit there while he makes all of these decisions for us?” When Draco didn’t reply, Harry continued. “We’re adopting.” He sat back down and waited for Lucius to erupt.

   The father of the last remaining Malfoys let out a hissing breath. He almost sounded like the snake that his family had valued for so many years. “We will be discussing your in vitro fertilization later. If this marriage even lasts that long. What’s next?”

   “Will either of you be requesting alimony?” the Bagley sister asked quietly, trying not to infringe on their rather loud disagreement.

   “No, we won’t,” Draco shook his head.

   “Will each party support the other party if he becomes disabled?”

   Harry couldn’t even believe that was a question. “Yes, of course.”

   “Do you want to include provisions regarding property interests upon the death of a spouse?” the taller sister requested. Draco hated that word. ‘Spouse’. It was just two away from ‘mouse’. It hardly held the romanticism that ‘fiancée’ did. In quiet panic, he realized they would be going from fiancées to spouses.

   “Just to add the amendment that should, Salazar forbid, something happen to my son, the money will be in the Malfoy vault,” Lucius said. Harry was too tired to bother arguing.

   “Father, the money can’t sit in the vault forever. What happens when mother and you are gone, and Harry and I have to deal with this damned thing?” Draco questioned, pointing at the pile of ink-filled papers.

   “Then it will go to your heirs,” Lucius replied icily. “The same goes for separately owned household items and effects.”

   “No,” Draco said quietly. “Harry almost got himself killed this week; I’m not giving up the right to inherit his fucking shirts and brooms.”

   Lucius was so disturbed that he didn’t even reprimand him on his language. “Then maybe you should be marrying someone with a less dangerous job.”

   “And maybe this isn’t your wedding!” Draco shouted, a rare outburst against the man that usually kept him neatly under his thumb. “Write down what I said. If one of us dies, the other gets everything. What’s next?” The mention of losing Harry, Draco’s number one worst fear, had given him the motivation to fight.

   “Do you want to include a statement explaining how this Agreement can be revoked?” the petite Bagley asked.

   “Yes,” Draco and Harry said at once.

   At least they were in agreement again. “We can annul it whenever we want, right?” Harry said nervously.

   “Yes, though it isn’t recommended,” the lawyer said reproachfully, and looked to see if they would retract their statement. “I will write that down, though…” Her quill scratched away at the parchment. “Now is the part where we estimate the value of your assets.”

   Draco let out a groan. “So much. Write _that_ down. A genuinely obscene amount of galleons,” he laughed, feeling punchy after having been subjected to the endless questions. Harry joined in on his laughter while Lucius pulled out legal documents.

   He gave the papers to Draco first. “ _That_ is how much I am keeping safe,” he said, pointing at a highlighted number. From what Harry could see, the amount of zeroes almost trailed off the side of the parchment. Refusing to rise to his father’s baiting, Draco kept his mouth shut. He simply passed the paper on to the lawyers in tweed. “And what exactly are your assets?”

   Harry felt entirely unprepared. “Er, I have bank statements in a drawer somewhere,” he murmured, getting up to search the kitchen.

   “The drawer next to the pot holders,” Draco reminded him, and Harry murmured a ‘thanks’. He opened the drawer and retrieved a stack of papers. Handing them over to the lawyers, he returned to his polarized side of the table.

   He ignored the impressed look from the Bagley sisters. “Now the only thing left is for you to sign.”

   “Thank Merlin,” Harry breathed, relief washing over him. He wanted to kiss someone, but Draco was all the way on the other side of the table.

   The lawyers finally forked over the papers and instructed the couple where to sign. In its entirety, the prenuptial was nine pages long. They would doubtlessly void it right after the ceremony and keep it from Lucius, but for now they were just happy it was over.

   After what seemed like a lifetime, the Bagleys left. Draco and Harry were close to getting Lucius out of their home as well, but he lingered by the doorframe. “This conversation of heirs is not over,” Lucius told them, determined.

   “Some other night, father.” Draco leaned against a wall, dangerously close to falling asleep right there. “I have work tomorrow.”

   “Then you’ll come to the Manor this weekend,” Lucius offered, preferring to fight on his home turf.

   Draco gave Harry a tired look. “We’ll see if we’re free,” Harry rescued him. “We may have dressrobes meetings, floral, er, meetings. Lots of meetings.”

   “We’ll keep in contact, then. Goodnight,” Lucius said as he closed the door. Harry and Draco stood, frozen as they heard him walk down the hall and descended their stairs.

   “Finally,” Draco breathed. “I cannot believe he did that. He shouldn’t have snuck up on you, on us.”

   Harry pulled him in for a kiss. “It’s okay,” he murmured against his lips. “When we’re married, we’ll revoke the blasted thing and forget this ever happened.”

   “I just can’t believe he brought up heirs,” he sighed.

   “We’ll worry about that down the road.” Harry smoothed back his blonde hair and kissed his temple.

   The two embraced in front of their door, finally glad to be alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kid you guys not, I filled out a prenup agreement online for them and followed it step-by-step. Apparently, August is free prenuptial month at Rocket Lawyer. Thanks for the kind reviews!


	13. Falling for Gryffindors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius, Remus, and Draco are all a part of the falling for Gryffindors club, and Theo is about to join.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the reviews and favorites! This is so much fun to write.

**Chapter 13: Falling for Gryffindors**

   “Can you pass me that knife?” Sirius asked, his hands busy with extracting potatoes from a plastic shopping bag.

   “Sure,” Harry said, handing it over to him. The two were in the remodeled kitchen of Grimmauld Place, and with Harry off from work he found he finally had some time to meet up with his godfather. Sirius worked mostly freelance cursebreaking and found his schedule to be flexible enough to fit Harry in any time he could.

   They were making an old Ecuadorian recipe that Sirius had found in some old cookbook of Remus’ for lunch, since Harry couldn’t spend one more day in his flat without losing his mind. “So you’ll be going back to work on Monday?”

   “Yeah, I’ve got the clear,” Harry told him as he took out a pot from one of the cabinets and set it in the sink.

   Sirius gave him a sideways glance. “I don’t want to sound like Molly, but be careful,” the animagus murmured.

   “I will,” he swore. Sirius didn’t press the subject, but he was glad his godson was safe. He began to cut the potatoes quickly, dicing them up. With his wand, he turned on a nearby radio so that The Beatles floated through the kitchen. Sirius hummed along, dancing a little while he cooked.

   Harry felt like it had been far too long since Sirius and he had talked. Draco usually stopped by Grimmauld Place to bother his relatives, but Harry’s job had been less forgiving towards his personal life. When things had lulled in the winter months they spent most of their days around Sirius and Remus, the two couples talking over hot cocoa and warming by the fire. He couldn’t quite remember what they had talked about, but he had remembered that they had laughed and always went home happy.

   He looked up to Remus and Sirius. They had lived through so much together, and still found room to love each other. Sirius still spent every full moon by his side, and Remus chased away the awful memories of Walburga and Orion. Even when they had been separated for twelve years, they remained hopelessly committed in spite of the framing and lack of trust within the Order. More than anything, Harry wanted a marriage like theirs.

   They had married once the funerals stopped after the final battle, and it had been the first time Harry had been able to smile. It was on the beach, and everyone wore white. Sirius had joked about being a pirate and sailing off to sea with his husband, living off the land. Remus had told him that all Sirius needed to do was buy a ship and he’d gladly run away with him at the ripe age of thirty-nine. The ceremony was very small, only the remaining members of the Order and some professors went, but it was the best wedding Harry had ever been to.

   The reception was a private dinner with what felt like Harry’s family. Even after the death and destruction that had surrounded all of their lives, Sirius and Remus were beaming with pride. Monuments could be built to their sense of undying resilience. After a long honeymoon in Argentina, they began work on the old Black house. Sirius was no longer a Black himself, having tossed his last name for Remus’, but he found himself the only remaining heir to a massive fortune and house full of memories.

   The pot in the sink slowly filled with potatoes, tomatoes, cumin, and tomatoes as they sliced in quiet, the remaining ingredients on their separate chopping boards. Harry grabbed the cilantro and Sirius took the onions.

   “Sirius?” Harry asked quietly.

   “Yes?” Sirius peeled back the onions and felt a sting in his eyes.

   “How come you and Remus never had kids?”

   Sirius put down the onion and started to chop down his knife. “Well, fuck, Harry. I’m trying to make lunch and you’re questioning my life choices,” he laughed, trying to move away from the onion fumes as they made his eyes water.

   “I’m not,” he replied. “I’m just curious.”

   His godfather put down the knife and gave up on the onions entirely, taking a deep breath. “It was never exactly the right time. First we were in school, and we talked about having them one day… But that was before our classmates started becoming Death Eaters. There was the First Wizarding War, and you know how that ended up for me. We didn’t want to bring a child into that mess, even when I got out of Azkaban. Then there was the Second Wizarding War… And you know _exactly_ how that went,” he said. Harry nodded. “It was never the right time for us.”

   “But you’ve got time now,” Harry reminded him.

   “Sure,” Sirius said sarcastically. “Let me share my issues with some innocent kid. Plus, Remus wouldn’t want to hire a sitter every full moon and lie about why Daddy is covered in scars. Most werewolves don’t make it passed round one of the hoops you need to jump through to adopt.”

   The whole idea that the two most suited parents Harry knew couldn’t have kids because of something Fenrir Greyback did to one of them as a young boy disturbed him. “That’s not fair at all. You could petition the courts, you could do _something_.”

   “Why the sudden interest in my childless state?”

   Harry shifted and cut the cilantro uneasily. “No reason. I think you’d be a great father is all.”

   Sirius smiled, giving his shoulder a tight squeeze. “You’re too kind,” he smiled.

   “It’s true,” Harry said as Sirius moved to cutting up the chicken. “You’d never be too hard on your kids, you’d never let them get away with any prejudice, and love them unconditionally. Some foster care kids would be lucky to have you.”

   “At least I’ve got you and my niece.” He returned to chopping the onions and tossed them in the pot.

   “Yeah, but don’t you want kids of your own?” Harry pursued. Sirius didn’t know why he was pushing the topic so hard, but it sounded like he was searching for some kind of answer.

   “I’m too old.” Sirius shook his head. “Then again, your grandparents were about a million years old when they had James. Miracle of modern science and wizarding technology and all of that. I don’t think I’ll be pushing out any little heirs any time soon, though.” There was laughter in his grey eyes as usual.

   His godson nodded and tossed the cilantro in and filled the pot with water. Once Sirius added the salt and pepper, they set it on the stove to boil.

   Harry took a seat at the kitchen table, worrying at his upper lip. “Alright, Harry,” Sirius said loudly as he grabbed a chair of his own and swung his legs around it so that his chest was pressed to the back. “Tell me what’s eating you.”

   “Draco,” he muttered. The whole ordeal was fresh in his mind.

   “I said ‘what’, not ‘who’. Unless you need advice on that—“

   “Definitely don’t!” Harry stopped him, smiling. Sirius always had a way of making him laugh, even during the war. “He doesn’t want to have kids, that’s all.”

   Sirius rested his chin on the back of the chair. “Not ever? You two are still young and fruitful.”

   “Right now he doesn’t want them, and doesn’t know if he ever will.”

   “I know why,” Sirius muttered and gave a bitter laugh. Harry tilted his head in confusion. “It’s the pureblood thing. Lucius most likely wasn’t as cruel as Walburga, but growing up with him for a father couldn’t have been a picnic.”

   “But Draco’s nothing like his father,” Harry insisted.

   Sirius felt his heart go out for the other couple. Being raised with the Dursleys was hard enough on Harry, and Draco’s childhood couldn’t have been much better. “It’s not always that easy. He looks at Lucius and sees everything he was destined and practically brainwashed to become. He’s afraid of turning into the man who messed him up. I mean, they even look alike.” Harry really hoped Draco would never grow his hair out, it’d be disorienting. “The major difference between Draco and I is that he still feels a connection to the old ways.”

   “I have no idea why he does,” he admitted. “It’s all so backwards. I’m pretty sure Narcissa doesn’t even believe in it anymore.”

   “Ah, my sweet cousin,” Sirius chuckled. “Maybe I’ll send her an owl…”

   “Maybe she’ll convince Lucius to lay off,” he murmured, hoping his godfather wouldn’t move to fight his battles for him. “The prenuptial signing was sort of a nightmare.”

   His godfather’s eyebrows rose. “Lucius made you two sign a _prenup_? I swear to Merlin, the next time I see that bastard—“

   “Don’t bother. He’s not worth it. Draco and I agreed to revoke the contract the first chance we get.”

   “Then why did he even bother putting you and his fucking _son_ through that?”

   Harry ran a hand through his dark hair, ruffling it slightly. “He wasn’t going to come to the wedding otherwise.” He saw Sirius stand to get even angrier and he tried to cut it off at the source. “It’s fine, it’s really fine. Lucius was just trying to protect him, despite the fact that it was pretty misguided.”

   “Damn right it was,” Sirius fumed. “The only thing he’s protecting is their bloody ancient money. You wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

   “I killed Tom Riddle,” Harry said breathlessly. Sirius stopped his raging and let out a quiet sigh. He moved to rest on one knee next to Harry’s chair, making eye contact with the man he considered a son.

   “Don’t you ever blame yourself for that,” Sirius said determinedly as he smoothed down Harry’s mussed hair. “Not ever.”

   Harry nodded. “I know, but I can see why Lucius wouldn’t trust me. I have a dangerous job, we haven’t exactly had the best past, and the only thing he cares about is his family. I’m trying to force my way in.”

   “That’s not true,” he told him. “You’re becoming a part of it through marriage, not wedging your way in. This is why I hate purebloods. They make everything a damned attack against their lifestyle. Draco loves you.”

   “I know,” he sighed. “I love him too; his father is just difficult to deal with. I hope he’ll come around.”

   “If it helps, you could always put the memory of me punching Lucius in your pensieve,” Sirius offered with a cheeky grin. Harry laughed and pulled him close for a hug.

   “That might help,” Harry said into his shoulder, gripping him tight.

******

   “I thought we said we’d go to their flat _together_ ,” Narcissa surged forward towards him, nearly knocking Gerda over in the process. The house elf scurried back to the kitchen and let her masters have their argument in the dining room.

   “It was the only night the lawyers were free! You’re missing the point, Narcissa, _he doesn’t want children_ ,” Lucius replied, rising from his place at the head of the table. The sun came in through the stained glass windows and made colored ghosts along the walls.

   Narcissa crossed her arms, shaking her head. “And I don’t blame him.”

   “ _What_?” he demanded.

   “If having children meant forcing them to sign contracts with the people they love, then I wouldn’t want to have any either! I can’t believe you.” Narcissa had been against the agreement from the start, but had at least wanted to go to the signing to make sure Harry wasn’t being duped out of his rights as a spouse.

   Lucius moved towards her in confusion. “I am trying to protect him. I am a concerned parent.”

   “What you are is scared!” Narcissa accused. “Scared that we’re going to lose him like we almost did before. This is nothing like that, though. You have to understand that the world has started to move on.”

   “Narcissa, let’s not talk about that,” he said in a hushed tone. The last thing he needed from his wife was to be reminded of the biggest mistake of his life.

   “Lucius, please,” she begged, reaching forward to hold onto his arm. “Just because you don’t talk about it doesn’t mean it never happened.”

   He gritted his teeth. “I _know_ that. I’m reminded of it every day, and so is Draco. I want him to have a quiet, normal life.”

   Narcissa had to keep herself from laughing. “Darling, if there is one thing Draco is not, it is quiet.”

   He couldn’t help but smile. “I know that,” he said. “But being with Potter adds so many complications to his life. The limelight is constantly on the Ministry’s pride and joy.”

   “Lucius… I think for the first time in a long time, Draco is happy. Maybe it’s worth it.”

   “I sure as hell hope it is,” Lucius grumbled. “Draco overrode about half of my suggestions during the drafting of the deal. Draco seems committed to this.”

   “Of course he is. We’ll _really_ lose him if you keep acting this way. You can’t make him choose between family and his fiancée. He can have both,” Narcissa said.

   Lucius gave her a strange look. “Are you really suggesting we welcome Potter into Malfoy Manor with open arms?” he questioned in disbelief.

   “I’m not saying that we welcome him to the ancient order of our ancestors,” she clarified. “I’m saying we welcome him to our _family_.”

   He shook his head, looking at her all the while. “I can’t bear to see Draco hurt,” he said in a voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t.” Lucius always had troubles voicing how he felt, considering nobody ever taught him how to. He passed that on to his only son, and the two were a mess of inability to express themselves. Deep down, he knew all along that Harry was never going to take his money, but he knew how the sting of a divorce would break his son.

   “Then why don’t you give yourself a little assurance?” Narcissa asked, wrapping his arms around him. “Talk to Harry. _Schedule_ it first, and have a real conversation with him. He’s a nice boy, Lucius, and he loves our Draco.”

   “Love fades,” he muttered.

   Narcissa let go of him and raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

   “No, no, that’s not what I meant. Narcissa, I love you after all these years just as much as when I married you. In fact, I think I love you even more,” Lucius tried to save himself, but he did mean every word.

   “Then why can’t our Draco have something like that?” she asked, pinning a piece of hair behind Lucius’ ear. He sighed, resting their foreheads together.

   “I’ll schedule it,” he gave in.

******

   The last person in the world Theodore expected to walk into his shop was Colin Creevey. He almost dropped the flask in his hand, and spilling amortentia was always a messy ordeal.

   “Hey there,” Theo said, putting the vial down on the counter in front of him. The light wood reflected the sun setting in the many windows, and the light bounced off the glass potion containers. The potions within them each captured the reflections in a different way. Even Colin’s hair seemed to grab onto the glow like a halo.

   “Hey,” Colin replied, taking in the shop. Thankfully, he wasn’t wearing muggle jeans and Theodore’s libido could remain securely in his pants. “This is a nice place; do you make all of these potions yourself?” His pale fingers moved over the glass around a sleeping draught.

   “Thanks,” he grinned. “I make them all. Sometimes I have interns who help, and for large special requests I hire some independent contractors, but that’s it.” He watched as Colin made his way around the store, taking in all of the wares. “Do you need any help finding something?”

   Colin’s attention snapped back to Theo like he’d been in deep thought. “No, just looking. I, er, I had a photo-shoot down the street, and I saw the sign, and yeah,” Colin finished eloquently. “What’ve you got there?”

   Theodore held up the pink liquid. “This? Some amortentia. Now don’t go and alert the Ministry on me, I promise I’m not using it to charm some hapless bloke, it was a request,” he explained.

   “A request from someone who wanted to charm a hapless bloke?” Colin asked lightly, leaning over the counter to get a better look at it.

   “Actually, they wanted me to make a new version of the potion. By isolating certain ingredients, I can give it the opposite effect. Rather than making the imbiber fall in love with the first person they see, they will fall into an unstoppable hatred,” Theo said happily.

   “Will it smell like the things you hate the most in the world? That might be hard to swallow,” Colin grinned.

   “That’s why I’m adding other ingredients to enhance the flavor and aroma.”

   Colin smiled as if that was the greatest thing he’d ever heard. “Wow, that’s brilliant. I was shite at potions in school, teachers were always on my back,” he laughed. “That sounds pretty complicated.”

   “It’s sort of easy if I explain a fuckton of technical terms that you’re no doubt completely uninterested in,” Theo smirked.

   He pushed a strand of his blonde hair back, resting his elbows on Theo’s counter. “I wouldn’t understand it,” he said simply. “No matter how well anyone explained it. Wait, were you in that thing that Slughorn had…? The Slug Club, was it?”

   Theodore took a deep breath. “I wasn’t allowed to be in it. But anyway—“

   “Why not? I think you’re the only Potioneer out of your year.” Colin’s soft features hardened in confusion.

   “I wasn’t of a very desirable family,” Theo said. Colin immediately understood, regretting the question as his mind traveled back to the newspaper headlines. ‘Death is far too merciful’. He stood up straight, trying to think of something to say. “I’m not… You know. I’m not like that,” he continued quickly. “I mean, you’re a muggleborn, that’s cool, I mean—“

   “No,” Colin laughed. “I didn’t mean to imply that you wouldn’t—“

   “I never listened to what he said about muggles, I swear—“

   “I know, I was just upset that I made you think about it—“

   “Don’t worry about it, honestly—“

   “Sorry,” they finally both said at once before both dissolving into nervous laughter.

   Colin was the first to speak again. “I know you’re not like that,” he said softly. Theo had been branded a Death Eater on his left arm, but never believed in any of it. Colin had dealt with enough bigots in his life to know when he saw one.

    “Right,” Theo nodded.

   “Can we start over? Hi, I’m Colin Creevey, I take photos, and I sometimes don’t know how to talk to people. Your shop is very lovely; would you like to get dinner or something?” He held out his hand in front of him and Theo took it in his for a strangely timed handshake.

   Well, that took him by surprise. “Dinner?” was the only thing he could say.

   “Yeah, like, where you ingest food and talk? Maybe you should just talk, I don’t think I’m very good at it,” Colin said nervously.

   “Dinner,” he said again, like some kind of fucking idiot. “Sure, I would love to,” he amended. “Let me just close up the shop.”

******

   “We need new toothpaste,” Draco said as he glanced down at the near-empty bottle in his hand and tried to squirt out a minty dollop onto his toothbrush.

   Harry walked to the counter to examine it, convinced that one tube could last a lifetime. “I’ll add it to the list,” he resigned. Draco managed to get enough out for a decent cleaning and Harry joined him in the mirror.

   Forcefully, Harry twisted the tube until another squirt came out onto his own toothbrush. “Impressive,” Draco teased. Harry shrugged simply joined in on their little teeth brushing party. They both leaned down to spit at the same time, careful not to bang their heads together.

   An old saying came to Harry’s mind. “Muggles say that the couple who spits together stays together,” he said with a smile.

   “But you always insist on swallowing,” Draco reminded him, earning a playful shove in the side. “What? It’s true!”

   He simply shook his head and walked into their bedroom, turning the light off as he exited. Draco rolled his eyes and followed closely behind. Harry let his glasses take their usual perch on his side of their bed. They moved the blankets back and crawled under together.

   Harry was more than happy to settle in for the night, having actually left the flat for once that week. His body curled around Draco’s, letting out a happy sigh. He smiled and gave him a slow goodnight kiss before nuzzling his head into the pillow. Draco’s arm draped over him and their pajama-covered legs tangled under the covers, leaving them both to float off to sleep.

   Well, they would have floated off to sleep if the black owl at their window didn’t hoot so loudly. Draco stirred, groaning. “What time is it?”

   “Ten thirty-three,” Harry murmured, glancing at the alarm clock. “Who the hell is owling us this late?”

   Draco shrugged and opened the window, letting the bird in. His stomach sank when he saw the wax seal on the letter. “It’s my _father_.”

   In any other world, Harry should have been happy to hear from the father of the man he loved. His life really had taken a tragicomedic turn after Hogwarts. “Do you want me to open it?” he asked.

   “As a matter of fact,” Draco said, removing the letter from the bird’s talons. “It’s addressed to you.”

   Confused, Harry took hold of the parchment and ripped open the seal. The message inside bewildered him much more than the time the letter arrived. “He wants me to have dinner with him tomorrow.”

   “You have your dressrobes fitting at three,” Draco informed him.

   “Anything conflicting my dinner plans?”

   “Sadly, no,” he admitted. “Why does he want to talk to you alone?”

   Harry put down the letter. “Maybe he’s decided to get rid of me once and for all,” he joked, but it fell flat. “Do you want me to go?”

   “I suppose so,” Draco mumbled.

   “Then I’ll go.” Harry really had no other choice, turning down Lucius meant him rescheduling and rescheduling to the end of time itself.

   His fiancée put an arm around him. “You don’t have to. Father has been so stubborn this week,” he averred.

   “I’ll go,” he repeated, pulling him in for another kiss. “Hopefully it’ll give me some kind of opportunity to prove that I’m not marrying you for your money.”

   “Well, that’s why I’m marrying you,” Draco said facetiously. “Look at us, a couple of gold diggers.”

   Harry laughed, settling back down onto the bed with him and discarding the letter. The owl was clearly done with its standing around and flew back out the window. Harry decided he would send a reply in the morning and wordlessly closed the window shut, placing his wand down on his nightstand. “It’s true. Better keep an eye on that fortune of yours.”

   “Only after I drain yours,” Draco informed him.

   “Before you know it I’ll be spending your galleons on expensive pets and plastic surgery.”

   The Slytherin let out a little ‘psh’. “Not with natural cheekbones like that. People get plastic surgery to get that kind of face,” Draco said factually.

   “Thanks?”

   “Any time.”

   Draco moved the duvet up around them again, tucking them both in for the night. In a moment of monumental sappiness, Harry kissed his cheek. “I love you, goodnight.”

   “I will not stand for this transformation into Hufflepuffs,” Draco announced, turning over on his other side. Harry laughed, enveloping him in his arms. “Oh, honestly? Now we’re going to spoon? This is what comes of falling for Gryffindors.”

   “Yeah, yeah. Go to sleep, snake,” he retorted.


	14. Worth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meeting with Lucius? Leaving your partying life behind? Most of the time it's worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot seem to thank you guys enough! Also, this is 55k+ words and I still have two chapters of AP US History left to annotate before school. Priorities in order, I suppose.

**Chapter 14: Worth**

   Searching for any buttons Harry forgot, he put his arms in front of him and looked. Thankfully, they all seemed to be fastened shut after his painstaking buttoning experience. There had to be at least a thousand on the jacket alone. He wondered what it would feel like to have Draco rip those off on their honeymoon.

   The dressing-room was spacious enough for him to walk, testing how the shoes felt and how the dressrobes moved with him. The final step was looking into the mirror. He grabbed his glasses off of the shelf on the side and put them on, taking a deep breath. Ever since he’d gotten the idea to propose, he’d imagined them both in white dressrobes. This was the third pair he was trying on today, but Draco and he had a good feeling about them.

   When he raised his head to look at himself, he let out a quiet breath. It looked like it had been made for him. The white lapels lay firmly against his chest, gliding down to the line of buttons. They had taken a couple years to do, but it was well worth it. Everything was white and perfectly tailored; sleek but still formal. His plum and brown tie stood out against the white, drawing the attention up to his framed eyes.

   “These are the ones,” Draco declared from the room next to his.

   “Yeah,” he agreed, doing a little turn to watch the tails fan out. Damn, he looked good.

   He could only imagine what the matching robes looked like on Draco. “Does everything fit?” he asked. Harry’s knowledge on fine clothing weren’t exactly extensive.

   “Perfectly. I don’t even think I have to get it altered.”

   “Can you see your ankles? Does the vest bunch up? Is your tie in a full Windsor? Is—“

   Harry laughed and shrugged despite the fact that Draco was separated from him by a wall. “Why don’t you come and see?” he requested, very interested in seeing how he was going to get it off again.

   “ _Everyone_ knows that seeing the bride in her dress before the wedding is bad luck,” Draco quipped.

   “Very funny.”

   Draco let out a huff, leaning on the panel that separated their rooms. “Do you need me to call over the shop owner?” he asked.

   “No, I really think it’s fine,” he said. Harry tried to imagine what he would look like standing at their altar, marrying him. It made him feel giddy.

   “Then let’s buy them!” he responded happily. Draco hadn’t even bothered to check the price tag, but then again he never needed to. The two began the grievous process of undoing the buttons and it seemed like new ones had spawned after they put the damned things on. It occurred to Harry that he hadn’t undone his own buttons in a very long time.

   By the time they were done redressing, their appointment slot was up. They exited the dressing-rooms with the robes, Draco’s folded over his arm while Harry’s were a bunched up ball in his hand. “Will that be all, sirs?” the tailor asked, a thimble and needle in hand just in case. She has been starstruck since the moment Harry walked in. To top it all off, a crowd had gathered by the shop windows.

   “Harry, don’t wrinkle them,” he sighed, turning to fidget with his fiancée’s robes. “Yes, that will be all. The only thing left to do is purchase them.”

   Experiencing a similar shock as when they had bought their rings, Harry’s eyes widened at the sight of the receipt in Draco’s hand. “Er, don’t you think that’s a little pricey?”

   “Nonsense,” Draco waved him away. They walked to the counter and tried their best to ignore the screaming fans that had doubled while they were looking at the price.

   The tailor rung it up at her cash register and Draco smoothly gave her the number of their joint account. Harry didn’t like the idea of emptying it, and that was what the wedding threatened to do. “I guess we could always wear them again,” Harry said as he tried to justify the expenditure.

   “Where would we even wear them?” Draco laughed and gathered the fabric in a dry-cleaning bag that the woman provided. “Do you go to secret black and white parties?”

   Harry sighed, feeling he should have known that he would miss the point. “No, but that’s a lot of money to put down on an outfit we’re only wearing once,” he pointed out.

   “It’s our _wedding_ ,” he reminded him as if that somehow made it all okay. Draco led the way to the door and Harry had no other option than to follow him into the sea of witches and wizards waiting for them.

   “Harry! Marry _me_!” someone shouted. Harry reached forward and latched onto Draco’s shoulder, making sure the crowd of people didn’t separate them. The flash of cameras momentarily blinded them, and Harry moved to cover his eyes.

   “Hey! Hey, Draco! How does it feel to be inside a horcrux?”

   “I love you!”

   “I want to have your babies! Need a surrogate?” The chorus of voices swelled as they tried to cross the street, bee lining for a clear spot up ahead.

   “You saved my parents, Harry!”

   “And Malfoy’s _associates_ killed mine!”

   “Queers!” another man yelled.

   Draco rarely rose to the baiting of strangers, but his guilty pleasure involved giving the press something to quote him for. “Wait, you mean I’m marrying a man and that makes me a _queer_? I’m so glad you’re here to tell me,” he returned, smirking as the flock around them hooted and guffawed.

   Harry just smiled; hooking his arm with Draco’s to keep him close. His other hand rested on his wand, just in case any onlooker decided to get physical. It had happened before, and Harry would be damned if he would let it happen again.

   “Healer Malfoy! Remember me? I came into the hospital last December!”

   “You’re my inspirations!”

   When they finally got to a patch of cobblestone void of people, the crowd surged behind them. A string of reporters appeared towards the front of the mass of people. They were waving recording devices and quills wildly in front of them.

   “Where’s the wedding going to be? I want in!”

   “We need to apparate,” Draco said as closely to his ear as he could, hoping Harry would hear.

   “How are you feeling, Mr. Potter? Your head all better?”

   “Whose last name are you taking?”

   The two wound up against the wall of another building, and seemingly out of nowhere, Harry wrapped his arms around Draco’s waist. “What the hell are you doing?” Draco demanded.

   “Giving them a good picture for the papers,” he said above the roars behind them. Understanding immediately, Draco held tight to the robes and let Harry pull him in for a hard kiss. Draco even lifted one of his feet up for effect. He didn’t think it was possible, but the rabble grew even louder with cat calls and angry shrieks. It all blended into one swarm of noise.

   When Draco pulled back, he counted against his lips. “Three, two, one!” With a sharp crack, they disappeared from the street side.

   Only seconds later their front door came into focus. Harry let out a sigh of relief and rested his forehead on Draco’s, glad for the quiet of their hall. “That was insane, someone had to have alerted the press,” he sighed.

   “I’ve had worse,” Draco shrugged, his hand resting on the back of Harry’s neck. Before he had saved the adored Auror Potter, mobs used to scream and throw rocks and hexes. Most missed, but the guilt that came with them struck deep. Draco had held his head high and tried not to let them see him in pain. He just figured he’d have to live with it his whole life, as an ex-Death Eater. “Now let’s get these hung up.”

   Harry lifted his head and opened their door, watching as his fiancée moved to put the robes away. “I owled your father back,” he informed him, nervously playing with his keys in his hands. “We’re meeting for dinner at five.”

   “Have I told you lately that I love you?” Draco asked, unable to rein in his smile. His father had never been the sort of man who took an interest in people’s personalities. The first thing he usually saw was the quality of their clothes and their last name.

   “You actually did just now,” he pointed out, ambling over to rest on their bedroom’s doorframe as Draco busied himself with hanging up and magically steaming their robes.

   “Did I?” he said playfully. “If you live through it, I think I have quite the reward for you.”

   Harry grinned and sauntered up behind him, pressing his chest to his back. “Oh, really? What might that be?”

   “You’ll see,” Draco told him airily, finally finishing his steaming and leaning back into Harry. He moved their hips together in a small circle before turning around to give him a long, wet kiss. A heat-seeking thigh found its way in between Draco’s legs, spreading them open. He drew his lips away and Harry pursued him, so Draco pressed his index finger up to his mouth. “Only after you make nice with him.” Harry let out a whine. “I promise it’ll be worth your time.”

   “It always is,” he murmured, giving Draco’s finger a kiss.

   Draco was considering letting him have an early taste when a loud smack against the window cut them off. They really needed to invest in an owl perch. Harry hoped it was Lucius owling to cancel, but no such luck. As he plucked the letter off of the tawny owl’s foot, he realized it was for Draco.

   “I think it’s from Theo,” he said, turning the letter over and handing it to him.

   Wondering just what he was up to, Draco broke the seal on the letter. The only thing it said was: ‘The wards are down, get over here ASAP’. That didn’t bode well. “I need to go rescue him, apparently,” Draco speculated.

   “And I need to meet your father,” Harry mumbled. He wasn’t really looking forward to it, but he wanted to settle Lucius’ concerns. The reason he had ever pretended to be straight all those years ago with Ginny was first off because he thought it was expected of him, secondly because Ginny was a respectable girl who understood why he broke it off in the end, but most importantly he had wanted a family. The Weasleys and their Burrow was a home away from home, and he never wanted that to change. At the beginning of the journey in his sexuality, he thought that he’d never have children, and his in-laws would hate him by virtue of the fact that he wasn’t the woman that they wanted their son to be with. It was disturbing that both of those things seemed true of his situation.

   Draco grabbed his face and kissed the bridge of his nose. “It’ll be worth it, remember?”

   Nodding, he watched as Draco walked to their fireplace and tossed the powder in.

******

   By the time Draco got to Theodore’s flat in upper London, the man was a mess. He had a tub of mulberry ice cream on his lap and a spoon in hand, not even bothering to put it in a bowl. Living alone was strange for him, having spent so long in a dorm full off boys. Then, before the dorm… A less desirable home life.

   In conclusion, he ate, drank, fucked, and slept as he pleased. He usually never had any qualms or regrets about what he did after his brief stint and as a Death Eater in Hogwarts. He was self-employed, had come into a massive inheritance, and was free from any real guardians. He rarely ever, ever felt this way.

   When Draco came in through his fireplace, it took all of the strength in his body not to launch himself at him. Instead, Theo managed a resolute: “I am having an existential crisis!”

   “How _do_ you manage without me?” Draco wondered out loud, plopping down next to him on the sofa. “Now tell your Healer what’s wrong.”

   Theo didn’t even know where to start. Instead, he just started frantically pointing to his mouth.

   “You have rabies?” Draco guessed and Theo gave him a smack in the arm.

   “No!”

   “Are you sure? You look like you could start foaming at the mouth.”

   “That’s the problem! I kissed him!” Theo yelled, tossing the ice cream to the side.

   It all seemed rather dramatic over what turned out to be a kiss, and Draco had never seen Theo acting this way. “Who did you kiss?”

   Theodore got up and started pacing in front of his black sofa. The whole apartment had a rather dark color palette, as most things in Theo’s life did. Draco always poked fun at him for wearing so much black like one of those muggle bands, but the black he wore was sleek rather than for show. It was that moment when Draco noticed that Theo hadn’t even changed out of his pajamas yet. His bare toes moved across the grey carpet floor as he continued to walk back and forth.

   “Theodore Marcus Nott, who did you _kiss_?” Draco demanded, leaning forward with all of his focus on his best mate. Of all the people Theo had dated, he’d never seen him get that nervous. Sure, he could be a little neurotic before a date, but who wasn’t?

   He continued to pace, trying to force the words out of his mouth. Finally, he admitted it. “I even walked him home! I… I kissed Colin Creevey.”

   “On the _mouth_?” the blonde compelled.

   “No, he took off his shoes and I kissed his feet,” Theodore retorted sarcastically. “Of course on the mouth!”

   “Damn, that was fast.”

   “What?”

   “Nothing,” Draco said quickly, not wanting to let on to exactly why he had brought them both there to the venue at the same time. Things would work themselves out, he imagined. “Okay, Theo,” Draco said, putting his head in his hand. “Other than the fact that you’re freaking out right now, what’s the problem?”

   “The problem _is_ that I’m freaking out!”

   “Was the kiss bad?” Draco tried to understand what the issue was. After the initial shock of the fact that it was _Colin Creevey_ , it really wasn’t a huge deal. All things considering, Draco and Harry were about as an unlikely a match as them until you thought about it.

   Theo looked at him like he was crazy. “No! It was… Really sweet, and his lips were really pink and soft and… THAT’S THE PROBLEM!”

   “WHY ARE WE SHOUTING?” Draco responded, matching his volume so that the whole apartment complex could hear them.

   “I don’t know,” Theo said, sitting back down. They were both quiet for a moment, and Draco wasn’t sure if he should interrupt his friend’s train of thought. “He took me out to _dinner_.”

   Patting him on the back, Draco distantly wondered if there were classes on how to comfort people. With the way things had been working out lately, he really needed to take one. “I’m trying to think of a way to break this to you, but that is normally a good thing. Do you, you know, like him?”

   “Are we back at Hogwarts?”

   “You are impossible. Do you have adult mature-type romantic interest in him?” he rephrased.

   It took him a moment, but he put his head in his hands and came to a decision. “Yes,” Theo said miserably.

   “I also hate to break _this_ to you, but you have been with tons of men. I mean, quite a large number of blokes. Arguably a massive—“

   “I’m aware!” he cut him off.

   “Then what does it matter if you add one more guy to the list?” Draco laughed, giving his shoulders a little shove. He hadn’t exactly meant to set them up romantically; he figured they just needed a first-rate shag. Leave it to his sappy friends to go and date instead.

   Theo put his hands in front of him as if that was supposed to relay how he was feeling. “I don’t want add him to a list. And I didn’t even think twice about him until a few days ago!” Theo said, eyes wild. For the first time in a long time, Draco thought back to their days of club-crawling almost nostalgically. They wouldn’t have been caught dead wearing rings or going to dinner with an old classmate back then. Draco had felt himself automatically age when the Dark Mark was branded onto his arm, and there on his best mate’s couch he could feel it happening again. “I think I’m going crazy.”

   “You and I both,” Draco sighed, leaning back into the cushions. It seemed that he and Theo were in similarly dire monogamous straits.

******

   It only made sense that Lucius would relish in making Harry wait like his son did. Obviously it was for other reasons, but it seemed to run in the family nonetheless. He took another roll of bread from the basket the waitress had placed in front of them, not knowing his capacity to comfort eat until the opportunity arose.

   The aroma of hot food drifted around him, and Harry wished that he wasn’t so close to the kitchen doors. Lucius had selected the restaurant, and it was an expensive eatery specializing in French cuisine. No surprise there.

   When Lucius finally appeared in front of him fifteen minutes late, Harry had already ordered a second portion of bread. He stood up immediately, outstretching his hand. “Hello, Mr. Malfoy.”

   After a brief look-over, Lucius shook his hand. “Potter.” They both sat down and the waitress took their drink orders, leaving them both to sit in a long stretch of silence.

   “So, you had something to say to me, maybe?” Harry implored, trying to figure out exactly what he was in for.

   Lucius cleared his throat. He was going to really have to make an effort here, something he was entirely unused to. Then again, he would do anything for his family. Even hold conversation with The Boy Who Lived. “Nothing in particular,” he admitted. “But after seeing the way my son defended you and how resolute he seemed in marrying you… I realized it was in my best interest to get to know you.”

   “You want to _get to know me_?” he asked in disbelief. At least he was going to live another day.

   “Isn’t that what I just said?” Lucius quipped. “Yes, now, tell me about yourself.”

   Harry had no idea where to start. It was a huge question, summing himself up to the father of his better half. “Er, how much time do you have?” Harry joked lightly.

   “All night.”

   “Okay, wow,” he started, scrambling for words. “Well, I work as an Auror for the Ministry, I want to become Head Auror one day and run the department… I like watching Quidditch, cooking, and of course I love your son. He’s really the best.” Suddenly, Harry felt like something hit him over the head. Not in the way someone literally had a few days ago, but something was obvious to him now.

   “That doesn’t mean anything to you, does it? I could tell you my favorite color, my favorite dessert, and my favorite television show and it would let you know honestly nothing about me,” Harry said, trying to work it all out in his mind before speaking again. “Let me lay it out for you. From the day I started being interested in your son, my intention was always a relationship leading to marriage. I grew to want that more and more as I _really_ got to know Draco. Not just know his hobbies, or his job, or anything like that, but I got to know _him_. The way he loses his breath when he laughs really hard, how we can make eye contact and know exactly what the other is thinking, his capacity for caring, and what makes him tick.

   “I think that the whole process took a lot of time. Just like getting to really know you probably will,” Harry continued. “I could give you a list of my vices and virtues, but you’d only really get to see them over time. Vices? I’m stubborn, pretty righteous, I hate department stores, I’m intolerable towards intolerance, I have a short temper, and you were right, I have a dangerous job. Virtues? I’d like to say I’m compassionate, always try to understand both sides of a situation, I have no intention of stealing any of your money, my biggest priority is Draco’s happiness and safety, and I am really, really committed to this.

   “But that doesn’t really matter. I won’t ever cheat on him, belittle him, abuse him, or do anything that would hurt Draco. It feels redundant to say out loud, but maybe you need to hear it. I don’t want to take him from you, or ever see that there’s bad blood between you because of me. I want him to have a great relationship with you and Narcissa because I don’t exactly have in-laws to provide for him,” Harry finished.

   Lucius had been stunned silent. He hadn’t been expecting Harry to open up like that right off the bat, and it was more words in one sitting than they had exchanged in his and Draco’s three year long relationship. It was so Gryffindor, and trusting. Suddenly, he seemed rather transparent—something Lucius had been craving the whole time. He wanted to let out a sigh of relief. No hidden motives, no secret resentments, only Harry Potter trying to move on with his life. There was a refreshing honesty about his whole spiel. “That’s quite a lot to digest,” Lucius told him anyway.

   “I know.”

   The waitress came back to order their appetizers, and Harry regretted eating so much bread. They sent back for baked brie and their entrees as well, leaving them to talk again. “And I couldn’t believe we actually agreed more on the subject of heirs than Draco and I,” he mentioned bitterly, leaving the adoption versus in vitro fight for another day.

   “I think he needs time,” Harry said slowly. “This marriage was a big step for him, and I can’t ask him to move that fast.”

   Lucius nodded, still trying to process what his future son-in-law had said to him. “Perhaps I judged you too quickly,” Lucius muttered. He really hated being proved wrong. Thankfully the only bruised thing to come out of the night would be his ego.

   “Perhaps,” he replied cheerfully.

   “You’ll never leave him for someone younger when you grow old?” Lucius demanded, his laundry list of horrific endings for their relationship suddenly surfacing.

   “What? No!”

   “You won’t want to be straight some day?”

   “I don’t think I could be if I tried,” Harry grinned.

   “You won’t spend so much time at work that you become absorbed in it and forget about how important your marriage is?”

   “Definitely no. Where are all these ideas coming from?”

   “I like to make lists,” Lucius informed him, ever the organized father. “I have one of all the things that could go terribly wrong here and leave my son damaged.”

   Harry frowned, glancing up from the tablecloth to look at him. “I would never do anything to hurt Draco.”

   “Things change over time, I need to make sure that you understand that your marriage cannot,” he said.

   Apparently, Lucius had more insecurities about their nuptials than Draco did. Seeing Lucius trying to hide how bothered he was by it reminded Harry of his son. He supposed that as much as one could try to escape heredity, it would always come around. Remus liked to tell him how much Harry was like his mother, and Sirius insisted he had James’ sense of adventure and bravery. “I understand.”

   “Good. Now sit up straight, fix your hair, and get your elbows off of the table. If you’re going to be a Malfoy, you better start acting like one.”

******

   “…Then, I am not kidding, he said I could call him Lucius.” Harry was amidst telling the story of his night to Draco when the blonde yanked him in for a kiss.

   “That’s fantastic,” Draco said, running his hands through Harry’s raven hair. The two were sprawled out on their bed, both telling the other how their separate escapades had gone. Harry had smiled when he heard about Theo’s romantic crisis mode, and figured that he was probably still clinging to the ice cream tub in his flat. Poor bastard hadn’t even known what hit him.

   Harry gave him another small peck. “I think what your father needs is time now,” he grinned, finding himself unable to stop kissing him.

   “You’re really.” Kiss. “So great.” Kiss. “Honestly.” Kiss. Draco then moved to pressing them into his neck, sliding his lips across his skin.

   “As I recall,” Harry murmured, sliding a hand up the back of Draco’s shirt. “There was a reward involved.”

   A sharp bite came down on his neck. Harry let out a yelp of surprise and Draco chuckled to himself. “I haven’t forgotten. Now, give me a minute,” he said, getting back on his feet and walking into the bathroom, leaving Harry to sit dumbfounded on the bed.

   The last thing he heard was Draco cast a silencing spell after he closed the door, and Harry wondered just what he had gotten himself into this time. He began to pre-emptively strip; glad to take the stuffy robes he wore to dinner off of him. They fell to his feet and he stretched out, glad to be free of the confinements. He remembered the two weeks off of work they had both saved up when they first moved in together, where they had a stay-at-home vacation. One of the rules was no clothing allowed, and Harry wondered when they were going to reinstate that.

   Happily remembering how they broke in their kitchen counter, he was brought back to the situation at hand when the door to the bathroom seemed to open by itself.

   Harry stood up curiously, now entirely naked. When he walked to the door, he saw the glass door to their show was pulled all the way back to reveal their Jacuzzi bathtub filled with pale green bubbles. Draco’s ankles rested over the edge of the tub of water, wearing only a pair of emerald pumps. In his hand were two thin glasses filled with champagne.

   “Why don’t you join me?” Draco asked, the Jacuzzi jets whirring quietly.

   Eagerly, Harry slid into the warm water and breathed in the green apple bath salts. The bubbles gathered around him as he sat next to Draco and took a glass. They clinked them together before taking a long gulp. It was light, but still left a satisfying tingle in his throat.

   “You’re stunning,” Harry complimented, taking in the bubbles that had collected on Draco’s long legs. The heels were just the icing on his delicious cake.

   Draco set his drink down to the side, slipping a wet hand up his neck. His thumb rested in the hollow of his throat and pressed down. Harry let out a breathy shudder and messily put his champagne on a ledge. Draco’s other hand rose out of the suds and removed Harry’s glasses, turning them over in his hands. “Green bubbles, green shoes, green eyes,” he said playfully, putting them down next to the empty glass with beads of water running down the lenses.

   Harry smiled, moving to kneel at the bottom of the tub between Draco’s legs. “Definitely worth it.”

   “Then take me,” Draco beckoned. His fiancée certainly didn’t have to be told twice. The steaming water swished next them as he pulled his legs around his chest. The tips of Draco’s heels nudged against his back, and Harry couldn’t wait until they were digging into him. He pushed him into the tile of the wall for a rough kiss, nibbling and pulling at Draco’s lower lip with his teeth.

   He felt dizzy with need. Harry’s hand moved to cup Draco’s groin as the jets began to rise in power. The bubbles seemed to be coming from the ceiling, a stroke of genius from the mind of Draco Malfoy.

   As they fell down on them, Harry rubbed the tip gently with his thumb and forefinger. “Tease,” Draco accused. He shifted up into Harry’s fingers until they finally glided down to stroke his hard cock. A moan escaped him and he looked up at the other man with dilated pupils. “ _Harry_.”

   “Fuck, you look so good.” And it was true. The bubbles collecting in his white-blonde hair, the rivulets of water running down his impossibly soft legs… He was a vision.

   “I’d look even better with you _in_ me,” he offered forcefully, pushing his hips up again to remind him.

   Harry reached for the waterproof lube on the other side of the shower, and reflected for a moment on the happy fact that they seemed to have a bottle for every room.

   “Hurry _up_.”

   “Patience is not one of your virtues,” Harry pointed out and pushed a finger inside of him, closing his eyes to hear Draco’s groan.

   He opened them again; sure to take in the look on Draco’s face. After working the finger in and out, he added a second. Draco let out a loud whine. “More. I want you.” Harry quivered, fucking him with his fingers. He loved how demanding Draco was, even when he was the one being pinned to the wall and had his legs spread wide.

   Harry added a third finger and sank them all in, opening him. When he was finally ready, he touched the head of his member to Draco’s widened entrance. With a push of his hips, he eased his prick deeper. “You were right,” he gasped.

   “What?”

   “You do look even better with me inside you,” Harry said before snapping back for a hard thrust. Draco’s hands struggled to grab onto any part of Harry that they could, groping at his sides. With the second thrust he moaned wildly, one of his shoes dropping to make a loud splash at Harry’s back.

   With one heel on, Draco rocked back onto Harry and panted out his name. It seemed almost oppressively hot combined with the heat of the water around them, splashing bubbles out of the Jacuzzi with every motion. Harry grew bolder with each shove of his hips, increasing in intensity.

   Of all the shagging they’d done in that shower, this would stick with Harry for quite a long time. “Harder,” Draco said, managing to sound imperious even when begging for it. Harry’s touch became even more merciless, and he covered Draco’s neck in bites, moaning into him.

   Draco breathed him in with the scent of green apple floating around them, the fire in him seemed to make the water jets roar, and for the millionth time he was grateful he was a wizard. Jets pulsed onto Harry’s back, an erratic sensation that had him feeling feral.

   “Fuck,” he gasped. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

   “So profane,” Draco managed to tease even with Harry’s cock bobbing in and out of him.

   “I’ll show you profane,” he vowed, slamming down onto him. Draco let out a shout of delight, digging his fingers into Harry’s lush hair and tugging.

   The water sloshed onto their floor, leaving the whole room a wet mess. “ _Fuck_. So close, that’s it!” he yelled.

   Harry got in a few more thrusts before Draco came, his toes curling under, even on the foot that the green pump was still on. His face twisted in the way that Harry had etched onto his mind a million times before. It was the face he made pensieve memories for on cases that took him away from home. It was an almost religious experience. Only milliseconds later, Harry gave a strangled cry and filled Draco’s beaten hole.

    They both sank back into the now half-filled bathtub with a content groan, Draco’s fingers running through Harry’s thick hair.

   “Worth it,” Harry repeated.


	15. Taste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's all a matter of taste. Whether it's in men, cake, or dresses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was a blast to research for this chapter. Especially to figure out what size everything is in UK sizing systems. There will be more notes at the end with dresses I spent a while designing for our lovely groomsmaids!

**Chapter 15: Taste**

   “I cannot even look at cake anymore,” Harry announced, falling back into the metal-framed chair. The bakery had been their fourth of the day, and it turned out Draco’s taste buds were harder to please than his eyes. The cake samples sat in small cups in front of them, and Draco had no problem taking a bite of all of them, even after a full afternoon of sweet hunting.

   “Come on, it’s _cake_.” Draco’s sweet tooth was legendary, and was absolutely raging that day. “At least we’ve narrowed it down to five.”

   Harry shook his head. “They’re chocolate! They all taste the same,” he told him, wondering if he should loosen his belt. They’d at least found a bakery they both liked, and that had taken some time.

   “Plebian,” Draco accused. “They’re chocolate fudge, death by chocolate, chocolate moist supreme, plain chocolate, and chocolate with chocolate chips. It’s incredibly intricate.”

   Shaking his head, he reached forward for a cup. “Let’s get this one.” Harry had no idea what it even was, but he wanted to go home. To make matters worse, the bakery smelled like sugar and sweets, something that after having had so many damned samples, Harry deeply resented.

   “Plain?” he sighed dramatically, taking the cup. “Okay, we’ve narrowed it down to four.”

   “Why don’t you just pick it out yourself?” Harry said, shifting in the uncomfortable chair. The baker stood vigilantly to the side, proud that his delicacies were being scarfed down by the most famous couple in the wizarding world. At least he hadn’t called The Prophet.

   Draco looked at him as if it were obvious. “Because it’s _our_ wedding.” He couldn’t believe he was the one dropping an ‘our’.

   “Yeah, but you’ve got an eye for this kind of stuff. Or, er, a tongue for it. You’ve got quite the tongue,” Harry mused. “Anyway, I’m not the most cultured guy, and I don’t really care what the wedding looks like.”

   “What it’s going to look like is perfect,” Draco informed him.

   “Exactly, because you’re in charge of that stuff. You’re good at that.”

   Raising an eyebrow and taking another bite of the chocolate chip cake, he put it to the side. Three to go. “But it’s still half yours,” he pointed out.

   “It doesn’t matter. I want to marry you, not open a dessert shop with you,” Harry said.

   Draco rested for a moment. “That’s not a half bad idea.”

   “You’d be too busy eating all the products to sell them.”

   “I have a high metabolism,” he smirked.

   “You could always eat them off of me, too…” Harry intimated.

   “Come _on_ ,” Draco sighed, getting back to the matter at hand. “Use your sense of taste, it’s really not hard.”

   “I grew up in a cupboard and you grew up in a mansion, remember? I think we’ve got different tastes, and by that I mean I don’t really have any.”

   “You do have good taste in men,” Draco reminded him, scrutinizing the cup of chocolate moist supreme and deciding against it purely on looks.

   Harry smiled. “That’s true. But who picked out the curtains in the flat? Who guided Remus and Sirius’ redecorating?”

   “Who carried the curtain rods through the store? Who redid their plumbing?”

   “So you need me around to be your lackey?” Harry laughed.

   Draco reached across the table to give his cheek a little squeeze, and Harry squirmed away. “I prefer the term ‘assistant’. Now assist me with this cake. We’ve got it down to chocolate fudge and death by chocolate.”

   “Either way, Remus will be happy,” Harry grinned, and his stomach churned as he reached for a cup of death by chocolate. He lifted the plastic spoon up to his mouth and put it down again. He felt a little like throwing up. “I cannot ingest a single crumb more,” he informed him.

   “It’s massively important!” Draco said, grabbing a chocolate fudge cake sample. “Okay, the death by chocolate says intense. It says passion, yet has a serious side. But the fudge says whimsy, and fun. It’s delicious, and is sort of an attention-grabber.”

   “Draco, never in my life have I thought about what cake _says_ to me when I eat it.”

   He gave his foot a little nudge under the table. “ _You_ might not, but we in the well-bred wizarding world definitely do. I learned all about this in charm school.”

   “Merlin’s beard. You went to _charm school_?” Harry asked in disbelief.

   “What do you think I did before Hogwarts? My parents weren’t about to enroll me in some muggle school.” Draco took another savory bite of the chocolate fudge, clearly torn.

   “Did you balance books on your head?” he teased.

   Draco gave him another nudge under the table, harder this time. “The fudge is sort of calling to me right now, but do I really want to eat it at the reception?”

   Ignoring his question entirely, Harry went on. “Really, though! Did you practice conversation? Did you _dance_?” Draco froze. “Holy fuck. Was it ballet?”

   “Shut up,” Draco said quickly. He’d instructed Pansy never to speak of their days together in charm school, and especially never to show anyone the photos. He would never live that down. “I learned how to dance. Which you need to do, by the way. I’m not swaying like a couple of sods on our first dance as a married couple.”

   “Wait, what are we doing then?”

   “Signing you up for ballroom classes,” Draco grinned devilishly.

   “No way.” The only steps Harry had down were the ones Draco and he did in clubs and that was mostly just frotting in public.

   “Yes way. Now help me decide on this bloody cake.”

   There was no way in hell Harry was going to be strutting around with some dance teacher. He still had a scrap of his masculine pride left. “I got lessons from McGonagall in school,” he said, hoping that would sway his fiancée.

   “For the Yule Ball? Name one thing you actually remember,” Draco challenged him, holding the cup of death by chocolate up to the light.

   “Erm…” Harry trailed off. “There’s some kind of counting... The man leads...”

   “I’ll be leading,” Draco said, having already decided. Harry narrowed his eyes. “What? We’re both men, obviously. I’m better at dancing; I’ll be leading you around the floor.”

   For the thousandth time of the day, he shook his head. “Whatever,” Harry gave in. “Why don’t you just pick the fudge?”

   “Do you like the fudge? More so than the death by chocolate?”

   “I don’t care,” Harry whined, leaning down on the table. “I really, really don’t. I have zero opinion because I have zero space left in my stomach. What do you like?”

   “Both of them!” he laughed. “That’s the problem.”

   Harry dug into his pocket, pulling out a galleon. “Let’s flip a coin. Heads for death by chocolate, tails for chocolate fudge. It doesn’t matter what it lands on, just what you find yourself wishing for before it lands,” Harry said, outstretching his arm with the coin in hand.

   “Isn’t that some kind of muggle thing?” Draco asked skeptically.

   It really was hard dragging a Slytherin’s mind out of its old routes of thought. “It works.”

   “Fine.”

   Harry tossed the galleon in the air and before it came to a clang on the metal table, he saw in Draco’s eyes that he had already made a decision. “Thank Merlin,” he muttered under his breath.

   “Fudge cake. Fudge cake everywhere,” Draco declared, noticing that it had landed on tails anyway. “Now it’s time to choose icings, styles, toppers…”

   Harry let out a defeated groan.

******

   In a bridal shop far across town, the atmosphere was a little different. The men of the wedding party had gotten their suits fitted, and all that was left outfit-wise was to have the women pick out their dresses. A gathering of beautiful witches picking out dresses for a wedding wasn’t uncommon, but this assortment of witches carrying on conversation was.

   “This place is a little…” Ginny searched for the right words, her eyes taking in the obnoxiously pink surroundings. The wall was emblazoned with white detailing, and a perky seamstress was breathing a little too closely down their necks. The whole thing screamed ‘Barbie’.

   “Fabulous?” Pansy offered, thumbing through a rack of dresses.

   “Prissy,” Maggie finished. Pansy wheeled on Ginny as if she had said it.

   “I was going to say ‘expensive’,” Ginny defended.

   Luna ran her hands over the silky fabrics, loving how they felt on her fingertips. “It’s splendid.”

   Surprised, Pansy turned to her. “Thank you, Lovego—Luna.” Luna had been talking about the material, but she figured keeping that to herself would be for the best.

   The bell on the door chimed and Hermione bustled in, purse in hand. “Sorry I’m late, I was checking in at the office. Anyway, the three of us need to find brown dresses, which Draco for some reason describes as ‘cocoa’, and you two—“

   “You went to work on a _weekend_?” Pansy asked incredulously. She loved her new job at St. Mungo’s enough to stay after hours, but there was no way she would give up her weekends. That was Pansy Time, and Pansy Time was the best time if your definition of ‘best’ was self-indulgent, drunken, and lewd. Either way, Pansy didn’t really care what other people’s definitions were.

   Hermione seemed surprised by the interruption. “Yes, I had to make sure a case I was working on went through to my supervisor,” she frowned. “So then, you two need purple dresses, or in Draco’s words, ‘wisteria’.” In all of her extensive vocabulary, Hermione had never studied the specific names of colors. Not even for her own wedding. That was when she looked up and saw a woman she didn’t quite recognize. “I’m sorry, have we met? I’m Hermione Weasley.” Hermione outstretched her hand to Maggie, who gave it a firm shake.

   “The one who helped on the horcrux hunt? Well I’ll be damned. I’m Maggie Warren.”

   “More like led the horcrux hunt,” Ginny said. “Harry and Ron would’ve been lost without her.” Maggie grinned, liking the sound of that. These girls were going to be interesting to hang around with, and her and Ginny did have the ginger connection.

   Modestly, Hermione gave them a smile. “We should really get shopping.” It seemed to be the one thing they all agreed on.

   Despite the fact that Hermione’s eyes almost dropped out of her head when she read the price tag on a dress she had seen, it was the store Draco had recommended. How he knew exactly what bridal shops were the best was beyond her, and with the tidbits she got about Draco and Harry’s love life, she didn’t really want to know. Sex was never a taboo subject for her, but she always figured some things among friends were best left unsaid.

   “How about this?” Ginny asked, holding up a russet-colored dress that had a deep chocolate lace at the top.

   Luna smiled wistfully, inspecting it closer. “I think you would look lovely in it. Harry and Draco really did pick good colors; these especially ward off the moon frogs that are out this time of year. Though, they are repelled by yellow a lot more…”

   “Try it on,” Hermione suggested, trying to look for her own dress.

   “There’s so much here,” Pansy commented. “But nothing to wear.”

   Maggie snorted. “What, did you want to go to some designer? I’m dropping enough coin in this frou-frou place, thank you very much.”

   Giving her coworker a look, Pansy walked over to the dresses she was inspecting. “Maggie, there is a reason designers are famous.”

   “Famously overpriced,” Hermione murmured, earning a glare from Parkinson.

   “They are famous for their workmanship and skill in creating beautiful clothes! Anyway,” Pansy said in annoyance, reaching into the rack of dresses. “What size are you? I think I have something perfect here.”

   Maggie reached for the style of dresses that Pansy had in her well-manicured grasp. “You’ve got to be kidding me. I am not wearing this.”

   The gown was filled head to toe with purple ruffles, cascading over the bodice and down to the skirt. Pansy’s face fell. “But I think you’d look _cute_!”

   “I think I’d look like the flower girl,” she retorted. “Here, how about this?”

   Pansy’s jaw nearly unhinged in horror upon seeing the dress. It was basically shapeless, and the cheapest one there at that. “No,” she said imperiously.

   “Princess,” she warned.

   “You are not going to Drakey’s wedding dressed like that!” Pansy declared, not even realizing what she had called him.

   “Drakey?” Hermione laughed, and Maggie joined in.

   “Oh, that is richer than you, princess. I cannot wait to call him that,” Maggie laughed.

   Pansy quickly realized her blunder. “Don’t! It’s just something I used to call him when we were little, he totally hates it. And it’s _my_ embarrassing nickname.”

   The women shrugged and catalogued the name for later use, returning to their dress browsing. Luna held a dark brown one up to the light as if she were checking it for mites, and stood on line for the one dressing room that the store seemed to possess.

   “You girls finding everything alright?” the seamstress asked, and everyone jumped. They hadn’t even realized she was still there.

   “Just fine,” Pansy said in a bored tone. With all of her great wealth, she was used to people trying extra hard to pitch a sale to her. Draco and her were usually accosted whenever they shopped, and the high-end stores were the only ones that wouldn’t complain about not having enough money to pay their mortgage whilst Pansy and Draco traipsed about without a care in the world. Even so, their owners were annoying all over the poverty board.

   “Actually,” Hermione said. “I don’t have much time, but do you have a dress like this in brown?” She held up a blue dress with a sash across the waist, and Pansy held back a ‘predictable, Granger’. Mostly because she wasn’t a Granger anymore.

   The seamstress quickly fetched her wand and began changing the color when Ginny walked out of the dressing room. “How do I look?” she asked, looking for Hermione’s approval since she didn’t quite trust Pansy’s taste levels.

   “You look gorgeous,” Hermione assured her. The sweetheart neckline accented the curves that most didn’t notice until they got to know her. Ginny’s muscles were toned from Quidditch, being the captain of the Hollyhead Harpies, but the dress made her look soft.

   Even Pansy gave a nod of approval. “Beautiful,” Luna agreed, moving to occupy the dressing room with her own flowery garment. Ginny gave a little twirl in front of the three mirrors they had, seeing every angle of the dress.

   “Here,” Pansy said, holding out a dress to the fiery-haired woman next to her.

   “The straps look a little complicated…” she murmured in response.

   “So wear a shrug!” Parkinsons never let a little detail like straps get in the way of outfit perfection.

   Maggie turned it over in her hands, still frowning. “I’ll see how it fits.”

   On the other side of the room, Hermione had her brown dress in hand and walked over to wait for the changing room while Luna disrobed. “I don’t know if this is my size,” she frowned.

   “Haven’t you been a size ten for a while?” Ginny asked, still looking at herself in the mirror. “You’ll be fine.”

   Hermione held the dress up in front of her, talking herself out of getting a size up. She was feeling a little bloated, that was all… “Yeah,” she conceded. “You’re right.”

   The door opened wide and Luna stepped out, looking otherworldly. If it had been magic times of old, people would have mistaken her for a forest elf. Hermione half-expected roses to sprout at her feet as she walked. The almost maroon dress had a flower design in the front, with pinched pins along the skirt. The herbaceous frock clung to her in all the right places, and she left out mentioning the fact that she had altered some of it herself in the dressing room. “It’s sort of purple in some lights,” she said happily. “A little bit for both of them, I suppose.”

   “Wow, Luna…” Pansy trailed off, not really knowing what to say. She hadn’t expected ol’ Loony to have style, but she did in her own way. No doubt she’d probably corrupt the dress with leggings and accessories, but it almost worked for her. “Nice.”

   “Thank you, Pansy,” she said, smiling. Hermione was the next in for the dressing room, leaving Ginny and Luna to inspect themselves further and consult with the tailor.

   Hermione entered the small pink room, a mirror greeting her. On the walls there were some inspirational words in white wood that meant quite literally nothing to her, as if ‘live’, ‘breathe’, and ‘love’ in a wayward changing station would solve everyone’s problems.

   Living, breathing, and loving, Hermione got into the dress. It was a little tight, but she could get that fixed. Her back felt a little sore, but that was probably from the running around all day. She had been working tirelessly for her promotion, and put in more hours than everyone else combined. The most likely candidate, Hermione saw her odds as being good, but never wanted to miss an opportunity to do what she loved. The promotion was nice, but her job was her passion. Hermione fought for human and magical creature rights alike, and nothing got her more fired up.

   “How does it fit?” Ginny called from outside the room.

   “It’ll need a few alterations, but it fits well,” Hermione responded, opening the door. She had a jacket at home in mind to pair with the outfit to give it a more formal look, but the tied belt across her waist did add a bit of flair.

   Ginny smiled ear to ear. “My brother is a lucky man.”

   Next in line was Maggie, with her complicated mess of strings. Throwing one last baleful look towards Pansy, she went inside.

   Only moments later was she lost in a web of tangles. It really all happened so fast she barely knew how to stop it. Or undo it. “Princess?” she hollered. “This dress is your fault, come fix it.” Maggie unlatched the door from the inside and allowed Pansy to enter.

   “Oh, Salazar,” the brunette laughed. “How did you even manage this?” The other woman looked entirely helpless in the purple bindings.

   “Screw you,” Maggie said with a smile.

   Pansy leaned forward undo some of the more obvious knots, surprised by how warm the other woman’s skin was. Maybe that hair of hers really was fire, and it was keeping her warm. The French manicured fingernails worked slowly to untie every bunch in the straps, her breath ghosting over Maggie’s neck. The back of her bra was exposed, a structured nude strapless one, but it was nonetheless suggestive. When she looked up in the mirror, Pansy could see that they were both smiling. Now, that was an interesting development.

   “There,” Pansy said, finished. “You look radiant.”

   “Radiant?” Maggie laughed. “Whatever you say. Now don’t you have a dress to try on?”

   A flash of dark purple fabric came to Pansy when she waved her wand, and she began to strip. Maggie had no complaints and she hadn’t exactly been kicked out, so she watched from a corner. Her shirt slipped over the soft lines of her back with ease, a black lace bra underneath. Looking over her shoulder at the stunned-silent ginger, Pansy let her skirt fall to the floor.

   “You _would_ be wearing a G-string out shopping,” Maggie rolled her eyes. Not that she was complaining.

   Pansy simply gave her a cheeky wink and pulled on her dress. “Zip me up?” she asked. Never one to turn down an opportunity to break hospital fraternization rules, Maggie stepped forward and slowly moved the zipper up and closed the metal teeth.

   “Thank you, dear,” Pansy practically purred. They left the dressing room together, and it looked like all of them had found their dresses.

   The women clustered in front of the wall of mirrors, a little bit awe-struck. If Hermione Weasley née Granger had been informed at Hogwarts that one day she’s be standing with that assortment of her classmates, sister-in-law, and a somewhat stranger all preparing for the wedding of Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter, she would have laughed at the very idea. Her life had taken a rather strange turn.

   “Wow,” Ginny said, the first to acknowledge out loud how strange it was.

   Pansy nodded, her tight, strapless purple dress hitting her right above the knees as she stared harder into the mirror. At least Draco wouldn’t chastise her for showing _too_ much skin. “Aren’t we a sight,” Pansy laughed in agreement.

   “I think we all look damn good,” Maggie said, surprised that she liked the style that Pansy picked.

   The blonde of the group gave another small spin for the mirror. “The wedding is going to be enchanting,” she said with the same distance in her voice she always had, like she was actually floating a million miles above the ground.

   The collection of all the shades of brown and purple felt almost like a gradient, and they made a strange two-color arc. “With Draco in charge, it’ll be unforgettable,” Pansy said in a very matter-of-fact way.

   “And with Harry too,” Ginny reminded her.

   “Yes, but let’s be real about who wears the pants,” Pansy grinned.

   Hermione let out a sigh. “They both wear pants. Neither of them conforms to the set gender roles that—“

   “Oh, loosen up,” Pansy responded. “I know that they’re both well-functioning men who trade off topping and whatnot.” Everyone looked at her like she was overstepping some kind of boundary by talking about it, but Pansy had a habit of overstepping. “But can you really imagine Harry calling a caterer, ordering flower arrangements, and picking out this place for us?”

   “I think Harry contributes in his own way,” Luna remarked. “He mentioned that they would be doing custom vows, and they have been doing most things together.” Luna and Harry had remained close after Hogwarts, corresponding through owls and notes. Harry always gave The Quibbler his story before he spoke about it to anyone else. Sometimes, oddly enough, it was talking to Luna that kept him sane.

   Pansy shrugged, returning to her favorite past-time of looking at herself. “If Draco is half as bossy as he is at work in bed, then Harry is one accommodating guy,” Maggie joked, earning a laugh from Pansy.

   Thoroughly disturbed by the thought of the man she considered a brother being submissive in bed and the mental images that came with it, Hermione quickly changed the subject. “Well, I have a busy schedule, so we should probably change out of these.”

   She rushed over to grab the dressing room first, leaving the other four girls to wait. With five groomsmaids and groomsmen, the ceremony was proving to be rather intimate. It would have the feel of a big wedding, with the stress of fewer than thirty people. It was only their closest friends and family, not wanting to drag too many people into it. At its inception, Draco and Harry agreed that their wedding was a ceremony leading into a party, a day about them and their relationship. That did not include having to fret about which great-aunts and acquaintances to invite.

   One by one, the women changed back into their street-robes and made their purchases. It had been a relatively conflict-free experience, which was rare when Pansy and Hermione were forced in a room together. They had both kept their vows of civility, and it put Hermione at ease to know that it was possible to do so.

   They said their brief goodbyes, heading off in their separate directions with their expensive new dresses at their sides.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to check out their dress designs, here they are! http://queenymidas.tumblr.com/post/30207730894/my-groomsmaid-dresses-for-the-fic-im-working-on


	16. Growth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Growth in a case, growth towards a wedding, and a literal growth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this update took so long! I’ve been swamped with schoolwork and extra-curricular meetings. Thanks for all of the views! I’ve broken 1,000 on AO3 and 10,000 on fanfiction!

**Chapter 16: Growth**

   The restored fountain at the Ministry seemed to glow under the light of the atrium. Witches and wizards made their way around it, some stopping to sit to rest at the side of it. Its predecessor had been torn down after arrests of those in the Ministry working to rid the world of muggleborns, and the original design magical creatures and wizards in tandem had been erected once more.

   Harry hadn’t realized quite how much he missed his work until he came back to it. The Ministry had changed drastically over the years as a result of the many progressive young students entering the workforce. The atmosphere made him feel proud to be an Auror. He took a seat in his office chair and let out a happy sigh before opening the case file.

   He’d gotten about halfway through reviewing and his usual set of questions when there was a knock on the door. “Come in!” Harry said, moving to sit up a little more straight. For some reason, Lucius’ comment suddenly came to the forefront of his mind.

   “Do I finally have my partner back?” the redhead asked as he opened the door.

   “Ron!” Harry said happily, getting up to hug him. The two embraced like brothers, because after all, that was what they were.

   “Your head screwed back on alright?” he questioned, breaking the hug to get a good look at him.

   Harry shook his head a little so that his hair ruffled. “Feels good to me.” The soreness had faded with the help of some pain potions, and Draco was never above a good scalp massage.

   “Great,” Ron said. “Now we can get to work on busting these creeps. Because of the murder of their third member, this has at least moved up in importance in Kinglsey’s eyes.” As glad as Harry was for finally getting a real case, he wasn’t happy about the way things had gone with Damien. Ron walked over to the side of the desk, searching in the papers until he found the sketch of the Madam. “They’re going to post these in any wizarding place that will take them.”

   For a moment, Harry remembered Sirius’ undesirable posters hanging up everywhere. He hoped that the Madam wasn’t half as good at hiding as his godfather was. Harry sat back down and took a deep breath. Usually, Ron and he were able to sort through things when they talked it over. Collective brainstorming was their specialty. “Who the hell are their ‘brothers and sisters’? The History of Magic museum has artifacts from too many cultures to narrow it down by much. They have the first wands, the clothing of most of the first wizards, and then they have everything up to modern day events. Did I ever tell you about how they wanted the clothes I was wearing during the battle?”

   “Is that the same as the time they wanted your glasses?”

   “Unfortunately, no,” Harry murmured. “That was the time that they made the newspaper wall of all the articles about me. I saw my whole timeline in Prophet print, all up there in black and white from my first year of Hogwarts to my coming out. I felt like I was being stalked.”

   Ron grinned, knowing how his friend hated the limelight. “That’s because you _are_ being stalked. At least The Prophet hasn’t found your flat.”

   “At least these damned murderers haven’t found my flat,” he said, motioning to the papers scattered across his desk. “It makes no sense that I’m alive right now,” Harry voiced his concern. “If they were willing to take out one of their own, then why am I not dead? I saw her face, she should have killed me.”

   “Because if they killed Harry Potter, they would be caught in under a day,” Ron said in a very matter-of-fact way that almost reminded Harry of Hermione. “The Ministry would put every man and woman on the job, Hermione and I would be tracking them down, and I can’t even think of what Draco would do to them. Probably something very illegal and very painful.”

   “I honestly cannot believe you are finally on first name terms.” Every time Draco said ‘Ron’ or vice versa, it made him feel hopeful for all of their futures.

   Ron shrugged. “We talked at the hospital. He’s going to be your husband, and you and I are like family, so I guess that makes us in-laws. Draco and I weren’t exactly going to bring up old Quidditch game scores while he was healing you.”

   “But _still_. I’ve wanted you two to get along ever since I started dating him,” Harry reminded him. “Thanks.”

   “We haven’t exactly been trying to kill each other; I just didn’t trust him for a while. You don’t have to thank me,” Ron sighed. “I was just being stubborn. I mean so was he, but that’s not the point. You love him and stuff.”

   “And stuff,” he agreed. Harry wanted to keep on pressing for what exactly they said to each other, but there were other matters at hand. “Okay, so what’s the plan with this team?”

   Ron sat down on the edge of the desk, his Auror robes trailing down the side. “Increased security on all the museums in London, along with helping the research team figure out what spell they could have invented. Since yesterday they narrowed it down to a combination charm. Both something that’s like a skeleton key, able to unlock everything silently, and something that doesn’t get them noticed by surveillance cameras or personnel.”

   “The invisibility cloak is still in my trunk at home,” Harry snorted. “So what kind of spell could duplicate what it does?” Being the only man alive to encounter all three Deathly Hallows, Harry always felt concerned when people brought them up. The Elder Wand rested with Dumbledore, the Resurrection Stone had been lost in the Forbidden Forrest for years, and he only was able to protect the cloak. Every time some bright-eyed witch or wizard announced they were going to find the Stone, Harry felt his stomach drop. They always failed, and he was able to breathe for a moment before someone else tried.

   “No idea,” Ron mumbled. “Still waiting for the results.” Harry nodded, knowing that the next couple of days would be filled with mindless patrolling until something turned up. “Let’s go grab lunch then, hm? No point of wandering around on an empty stomach.”

   Harry laughed; glad to see his short leave of absence from work hadn’t changed a thing. No doubt they would go to some pub and scarf down fish and chips like there was no tomorrow, until there actually was a tomorrow where they needed to do their jobs. Maybe Harry would even squeeze out some more details of Draco and his conversation. “Let’s go.”

******

   After a long day of fruitless museum crawling, Harry felt like putting his feet up and tuning in to some mindless television. The last thing he expected was for Draco to be forcing his wedding-day shoes on him.

   “You have to learn how to dance,” Draco complained.

   “I’ll be fine,” Harry insisted, trying to cover his face with a throw pillow.

    The blonde shook his head and crawled onto the couch next to him, holding him in a slightly menacing grip. “So help me Salazar, I will sign you up for those classes.”

   “I won’t go.”

   “You will go if you don’t want this sofa to be your bed,” he retorted.

   Harry looked to the shoes and back to the stern look on Draco’s face. “What are my alternatives?” he asked, trying to bargain. He had learned a long time ago that being with a Slytherin required a certain knack for bartering and betting.

   “I teach you, or some strange man named Fabio does,” Draco declared, hinting towards which one he’d rather his fiancée chose.

   Weighing his options, Harry still felt he didn’t have much of a choice. “What are we even dancing to that requires so much effort?”

   “It’s not a gargantuan task, it’s ballroom dancing.” He leaned his head on Harry’s shoulder, giving it a small kiss. “And it’s to our song.”

   “Oh.” Harry probably should have known, but it sort of escaped him. The first night that Draco ever went home with Harry, they’d listened to records and CDs for hours. They were happy to find their taste in music, while different, shared some common themes. They loved anything alternative from indie rock to something slow and sweet. While searching through his pile of seemingly endless 90’s music, as if he was somehow stuck in that decade, they stumbled upon a Placebo album.

   Draco had never heard them before, so Harry popped the disc into his stereo. His exact response to the band was a breathy: ‘Exquisite.’ By the third track, they were snogging without restrain or hesitation. By the fifth, they were seeing each other naked for the first time, breathing heavily and pulses pounding. All through the sixth, seventh, and eighth, Draco and he were shagging with a passion that they had reserved for their fantasies. When they fell exhausted onto the bed, track number nine came on.

   Both covered in sweat, wrapped in each other’s arms, they listened in a companionable silence. It was ‘My Sweet Prince’. A song that was ironically about love and addiction, and had a heavy six-eight beat. In the bleary afterglow of sex, Draco pressed his lips to Harry’s ear and told him ‘this is our song’. Harry didn’t quite remember what he said, because his response was most likely a sound kiss on the lips. Either way, from that moment on, it had been concrete.

   “It’ll be easy,” Draco said softly. “Just count out loud. One, two, three, four, five, six…” He got up and switched on their stereo, motioning for Harry to join him.

   Reluctantly, Harry stood to join him. “So er, where do my—?” Before Harry could even finish his question, Draco placed his left hand on his shoulder and took the other in his free hand. Draco’s other arm wrapped around his waist, holding him close. “Right.”

   “Count,” Draco reminded him, the music drifting through the room.

   “One, two, three… Why are we counting again?” he asked, following Draco’s feet.

   He scoffed as if it were obvious. “It helps you keep time. You’ll do it out loud now, and then later in your head when we actually dance.”

   Once they got a good tempo down with their steps, Harry got used to the motion of following Draco’s lead. He murmured the numbers under his breath, his eyes focused attentively on Draco’s feet. “See? It’s not so hard. Now try and look up at me, and _don’t_ step on my feet.”

   Harry’s green eyes flicked up to meet his fiancée’s. His movements were more wobbly, but he tried his best to think of it like casting a spell. The proper words framed with the proper motions, and it was almost like a patronus swishing around the room.

   “I’m going to spin you now,” Draco said, and Harry stopped.

   “You are not spinning me.”

   “Why not? It’s a _dance_.”

   Harry felt another wave of defeat coming over him. Maybe that was what marriage was supposed to feel like. It would sorely disappoint him if those sitcoms wound up being right. “Fine, but then I get to spin you.”

   “So finicky,” Draco teased. “Now be reasonable. We have managed much more acrobatic feats in bed.” Cautiously, Draco led the turn with his hand, watching as Harry tried not to trip over himself.

   “Yeah, but it’s never involved counting,” he laughed, trying to murmur the numbers even more quietly.

   Draco almost backed into the couch, but quickly redirected. “Didn’t they teach you counting in that muggle school?”

   “Did they teach it to you in _charm school_?”

   Draco narrowed his eyes but continued their dance. “Touché.” Almost directly after Draco said that, Harry stumbled and almost landed on top of him.

   “This is harder than it looks,” Harry assured him.

   “Harry, you killed the bloody Dark Lord. Can you honestly not try a simple spin?”

   “That was a seven year process,” he reminded him with a hint of anger.

   Draco tried to spin him again. “Well, this better be a seven day one. Because, as I’m sure you already know, we only have fifty-five days until the wedding.”

   “You’ve been counting?” Harry asked with a grin as he moved beneath Draco’s arm. Draco could deny his sentimentality all he wanted, but Harry knew better than to believe him.

   “Of course. We still have quite a bit to do, after all.”

   The Gryffindor groaned and leaned his head on Draco’s shoulder. “More shopping?”

   “So much more shopping! That and we still need to write our vows, hold rehearsal dinners, book a band or DJ, order flowers… That’s all I can think of off the top of my head, but there is a lot to get done.”

   “Do we get to pick the honeymoon location soon?”

   Draco furrowed his brow in concentration as he continued to lead Harry around their living-room. “I was thinking my family’s house in Bermuda. The beaches there really do have pink sand.”

   “I hate to break this to you,” Harry said as they narrowly missed bumping into the coffee table. “But that’s pretty gay.”

   “ _You’re_ pretty gay.”

   “How did you know?” he asked, feigning shock. “I thought I was so good at keeping it a secret!”

   Draco laughed and moved even closer to him as they danced around on the carpet. It felt incredibly soft under their white wedding shoes. At least they were getting a chance to break them in. “I sort of guessed around the third time I was inside you. I could just _feel_ the gay.”

   There was nothing Harry loved more in the world than making him laugh. “What, like feel it with the tip of your penis?”

   “Obviously. The other two times I was too busy falling in love with you,” Draco grinned, giving him another spin that went much more smoothly. The distinct beat in the background kept them going, even as the song repeated. “Anyway, our big gay wedding is going to end with a big gay honeymoon in Bermuda. All of that shopping will seem a million miles away when we’re shagging on the beach.”

   “In the pink sand?”

   “In the pink sand.” Draco allowed himself to be spun one last time before taking Harry in for a dip.

******

   Hermione felt on top of the world. Cloud nine, really. “Ron wants to throw me a party,” she smiled. “I keep telling him it’s too much, but he seems really intent on it.”

   “You should let him!” Ginny said happily, grabbing the barstool next to her. “Two piña coladas,” she told the man behind the bar.

   “Actually,” Hermione cut in. “Just one.”

   “Hermione, you just got the promotion you waited all spring for. The least you can do is have a drink on me.”

   The brunette shook her head. “No, really, it’s fine.”

   “Please don’t tell me you have to go back to the office tonight. You’re their supervisor now! They answer to you,” Ginny reminded her. The Ministry needed all the intelligent young minds it could get, and Hermione was after all the brightest witch of her age. It only made sense that she would be in a position of power.

   “I don’t need to go back to the office,” she said. “I simply want to have a clear head.” Hermione undid her tight bun to let her hair fall down to her shoulders, demonstrating that she was only opposed to the alcohol aspect.

   “One virgin piña colada,” Ginny told the man behind the counter, shooting Hermione a winning grin.

   “Thanks.”

    “Any time, sister! Now, tell me all about it. Did they call you in and throw confetti at you?” she asked, leaning forward on the bar.

   Hermione toyed with the seam on her bag as she thought back to the moment. “Theresa had announced that she’d be retiring soon a couple months ago, so I was competing with most of my coworkers for her position. Things were a little tense, since she announced it over the loudspeaker to the entire Ministry building, but I think they all were okay with me having her job. Anyway, I went to her office and she shook my hand. There was no huge fanfare, but I did get to learn a bit more about the responsibilities of the job. I have to report to Ministry higher-ups now instead of a supervisor, which is such an amazing opportunity.

   “When I came out of her office, Ron and Harry were there. They’d run all the way from the Auror department when they heard the news. It was so sweet of them. Nothing really life-changing happened, but we all went out for lunch,” she finished.

   “Still,” Ginny said. “That’s really impressive.”

   They were interrupted only for a moment as the bartender put their drinks down on coasters in front of them, giving them both a wink. “Ladies.”

   “ _Somebody_ thinks he’s getting a big tip,” Hermione scoffed as he walked away. All she wanted as a woman was one day where strange men didn’t hit on her in restaurants or shops. It was as if they didn’t understand that women had lives outside of discussing their relationships with men. Even romantic comedy movies, muggle and wizarding alike, with female protagonists seemed to endlessly revolve around men. She took a sip of her drink.

   Ginny’s facial expression matched Hermione’s inner thought. “Your wedding ring is pretty visible, too.”

   “Is it?” Hermione asked coyly, stretching her hand out so the diamonds sparkled under the low light. Both women dissolved into laughter.

   “We’re all adults now, aren’t we?” Ginny reflected with a smile. “You and my brother are married, George and Angelina are, Percy has even found himself a girlfriend, and now Harry’s getting married.”

   Hermione grinned around her straw. “At least we haven’t become those attached-at-the-hip couples.”

   “Not yet,” Ginny teased.

   “I refuse.” For some reason, her mouth started to feel very warm. She pushed down the feeling, trying to stay focused on the situation at hand.

   The ginger patted her friend gently on the back, which didn’t really help. “At least you have someone to be horribly co-dependent with. Looks like I’m always a bridesmaid, never a bride,” she joked lightly.

   “What you are is a Quidditch star,” Hermione pointed out.

   “Very true. A Harpy through and through and all that.” Even walking into the bar, the two had to dodge fans and reporters. It was a funny coincidence that Ginny and her ex both had legions of adoring followers for entirely different reasons. They often joked about what it would be like for all of them to go down Diagon Alley together. The press still harassed everyone from Draco to Neville for their involvement in the war. “Anyway, what do you say about a club crawl tonight? Dancing away our troubles and all that.”

   “Thank you, really,” Hermione said with regret laced in her voice. “But I’m really tired. I think I’ll go home and rest soon.”

   Ginny sighed, resting her elbow on the bar. “All tuckered out from changing the world?”

   “Sorry.”

   “Bah, it’s fine. More dance floor space for me,” the ginger conceded. Ginny’s life went by the motto of ‘work hard, play hard’ ever since she had joined the Harpies. She trained during the day, had games on the weekends, and indulged herself during the night hours. It had been everything she wanted at Hogwarts and more. Being an adult was strange and involved paying taxes, rent, learning how to cook, and becoming globally aware, but in the end it had more benefits than drawbacks.

   Hermione felt more and more unsettled by the second. “I’m going to go to the bathroom, okay? Save my seat,” she said quickly, getting up. Ginny yelled something after her, but her head was throbbing too hard to hear it.

   She weaved in and out of people in the crowd, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor. By the time she stumbled around to the women’s room, her stomach felt like it was swirling around inside her. All of the stalls were sealed shut, and she could hear moaning coming out of one of them.

   “Hey!” she shouted. “Some of us have to us this room for what it was intended!” Hermione banged on the door loudly, disturbing the couple inside the stall. “Get _out_.”

   The disgruntled couple unlocked the door and she pushed them out of the way in spite of their mutual topless state. After all, she had been placed in Gryffindor for a reason. Locking the door behind her, she ignored their grumbles of anger and the obligatory, ‘oh Merlin, did that look like Hermione Weasley?’.

   Trying not to touch her knees to the grimy bar bathroom floor, she used her wand to pin her hair back again. Suffering from both a combination of previous sickness and the horribly unclean state of the room, she retched her piña colada back up.

   The burning sensation in her throat faded, and a feeling of relief came over her. Had she been at home, she would have sat back on the floor and taken a moment to collect her thoughts. She thought of Ginny back at the bar and used a scratchy piece of toilet paper to wipe her mouth off and another one to cover her hand while she flushed.

   When she exited the stall, an inebriated woman gave her a knowing look. “Some girls just can’t handle their booze,” the black-haired clubber shrugged, moving to occupy the stall Hermione had left.

   “I wasn’t—“ She stopped herself midsentence, knowing that she wasn’t obligated to explain herself to a random woman in a bar, especially since she probably wasn’t listening.

   Hermione walked to the mirror, washing her hands in the rusty sink. She fidgeted with her hair, trying to give herself a more healthy-looking appearance. Taking a few deep breaths and summoning her courage again, she walked out of the room with her head high.

   Once again, she found herself clawing her way through the crowd. Laughing drones of party-goers provided enough resistance so that by the time she got back to the bar, Ginny looked concerned.

   “Are you okay?” she asked.

   “Yeah,” Hermione lied. “It’s a little loud here, that’s all. I think I’m going to go home.”

   Ginny gave her a small smile. “Alright. Say ‘hello’ to Ron for me.” She brought her in for a quick hug. “And seriously, congratulations.”

   “Thanks, Ginny. I’ll owl you tomorrow.”

   With that, they said their goodbyes and Hermione exited into the street. It was a warm night, and the cobblestone was alive with teenagers off on summer break. Despite the ache in her feet, she walked out of the wizarding section of the street and the brick wall sealed behind her. She didn’t trust herself to apparate, so she hailed a cab.

   The whole ride home she worried about becoming carsick, the lights of London whirring passed her in the form of shop signs and street lamps. In her head, she went through the diseases she knew of that caused vomiting, both wizard and muggle. She hadn’t gone abroad lately, and neither had Ron for any case… When she had narrowed it down to a couple dozen, she had reached her apartment complex.

   “Thank you,” she said, paying the driver in the supply of muggle money she kept in her bag. When she made it up to her apartment, her husband greeted her.

   “Hey there, new supervisor,” Ron said with a smile. He moved to kiss her lips but Hermione remembered she would probably taste like vomit. She moved to give him a kiss on the cheek instead.

   “Hey,” she murmured. “I need to go send an owl, okay?”

   “Sure,” Ron responded, admittedly rather oblivious to his wife’s more subtle emotions.

   Hermione made her way to their bedroom to grab her stationary and a quill. Sitting at her desk, she began to write. It took her a couple drafts, but she finally had written what she believed to be a perfectly professional letter.

   She walked to the window and opened it a crack so that Ron’s barn owl could enter. On the recipient’s space on the envelope, she wrote down St. Mungo’s address. “Take this to Healer Malfoy,” she said to the owl, sending it off with the message tied to its leg.


	17. More Surprises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The unexpected, fanfiction makes possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all of the favorites and reviews! This chapter was a blast to write.

**Chapter 17: More Surprises**

   It was obscenely hot outside. The practically oppressive temperature felt like it was pushing down onto the earth, resisting its inhabitants entirely. Draco had already shed his Healer’s robes and slackened his tie an hour into his shift. The hospital was kept cold through a system of charms, but even they couldn’t beat the heat entirely. The swelter made him feel exhausted in spite of his rather reasonable night of sleep.

   While he reclined in his office, pretending to be in a meeting, he cast several cooling spells on the room. He would rather be cold than warm any day. Winter was his season. He was just about to fall into a dreary nap when a knock was heard on his door. Playing along with the idea of ‘being in a conference on the importance of patient’s emotional health’, he didn’t even call out to ask who it was.

   The knock came again, and he gave an exasperated sigh. Whoever it was seemed to be intent on ruining his lackadaisical day at work.

   “Healer Malfoy! I have urgent mail for you!” a voice called, and Draco immediately recognized it as the voice of the owlery woman.

   “Busy!” he called back, putting his feet up on the desk. He loved his job, but he was a priss about his working conditions. Draco was used to nippy dungeons and Harry’s strong temperature-related spells. Having been spoiled rotten from birth, it was difficult for him to take the silver spoon out of his mouth sometimes.

   Another knock rasped at the door and Draco got up to answer it purely out of frustration. He threw the door open and glowered at the woman. “What is it?”

   She outstretched a plump hand with an envelope addressed to him. Draco snatched it up, but remembered to mutter a ‘thanks’ before slamming the door shut to keep in the cold. Walking back to his white desk with his wand breaking the seal, he sat back down. A dull ache reminded him of the night before, but he almost liked it. It felt like Harry was still with him, somehow.

   Leave it to Harry Potter to make sex pains sentimental.

   He pondered on the subject of his recent most pathetic and Hufflepuff behavior while opening up the neatly folded parchment. The last person he expected an owl from was Hermione. Well, maybe she wasn’t the _last_ person, but she was pretty far down there on the list.

   It was an appointment sheet filled out immaculately along with a small note. How very Granger of her. The appointment was scheduled for four, the last hour of Draco’s shift. Harry had told him all about Hermione’s big promotion, and how she was going to change the whole world as they knew it and all that. There even was a little something else Draco had been told to keep quiet about.

   When he finished absorbing the appointment sheet, he looked to the note. ‘ _Draco, I hope you have time to fill the appointment on such short notice. I simply need a Healer I know won’t go running to The Prophet with my personal life. Thanks, Hermione Weasley’_. Draco kept on forgetting about the last name change. She always seemed like the type to keep her family name and hyphenate for children.

   From the information she checked off on the parchment, it seemed like she might need to start picking out names soon. Draco mourned for the amount of gingers that would be brought into the world from that family.

******

   Braving the heat with the aid of a strong couple of spells, Theodore stirred a cauldron full of Strengthening Solution. With the hand that wasn’t occupying the metal stirrer, he slowly let bits of crushed snake fang fall into the brew.

   Wiping the sweat off of his forehead with his elbow, he tried his best not to increase or decrease the flow of powder. He was beginning to regret all of the glass art and windows because it only seemed to capture and magnify the sun’s rays. Either way, nothing could keep him from his first love.

   When Theo made potions, it was an art form of the highest station. Everything was painstakingly measured and precise, yet he never allowed that to restrict him from adding his own special twists to recipes. He chopped, stirred, and poured in silence, the sounds of the potion becoming his soundtrack. He thrived on every bubble and hiss as if he were playing an instrument.

   His sweet, sweet music filled his workroom. The chimes would play if anyone entered, but everyone seemed to be staying in their own houses that day. They could stay home all year if they liked, Theodore never felt lonely when he was brewing.

   Draco often called him a loner and criticized him for spending so much time with his face over a cauldron. Theo would just smile and him and tell him to shove it. That was the way their friendship had always been. Never having felt the pressure of needing to belong, Theo voluntarily excluded himself from Draco’s little clique of friends in school. He had no interest in joining his best mate’s misguided attempt for pureblood dominance. It had put a strain on them, but Theo wasn’t the sort to compromise who he was to fill a roll in someone else’s agenda. Unless, of course, his life was in danger. The faded scar on his left arm seemed to remind him of that every day.

   In the end, Draco had seen what Theo had tried for years to tell him about muggleborns, on top of the fact that he’d grown up and learned how to take a joke.

   Rather quickly, joking became their main way of communication after the war. Every ‘I hate you, you insufferable git’ was secretly an ‘I’m glad we’re friends’. Neither of them had been taught how to properly express affection in the slightest, so they found their own system of teases and jabs.

   Despite their numerous dysfunctions and short-comings, there were things about their relationship that were often unspoken. All without asking, Theo had stood in the angry mob outside of St. Mungo’s for the first week with his wand at the ready; Draco had stood in the back of the courtroom when Marcus Nott was sentenced. They had even done the unthinkable, the unmentionable, the most shamed thing a couple of pureblooded blokes could do. They had comforted one another when they were crying.

   Draco’s pride was an entity so large it needed its own post code. He had never, ever allowed anyone to see him cry until sixth year. The fact that it was Harry Potter who had seen it may have been some interesting foreshadowing. Even so, both Theo and Draco were completely awful criers. It was messy, loud, and an entire production in itself.

   It was the sort of crying that was never about one thing, but more about one’s entire state of mind. Almost like a cauldron boiling over, you couldn’t stop it once it started. It was like reopening old wounds and mourning who they could have been or what they could have had without all of the darkness in their lives.

   As he added the pulverized crocodile bones, Theo breathed in deeply. It smelled just as it should have, tangy with a hint of lemon. It cleared his mind out.

   When the potion was finally bright yellow and complete, he began to fill up vials of the stuff. It wouldn’t be going on sale in the shop since a customer requested it, so he gave it a more bland appearance. All the glitz and detailed glasswork was reserved for luring in buyers.

   Once he packed away the bottles for delivery, he decided it was time to take a well-deserved break. Walking to the front and flipping the sign to ‘closed’, Theo locked up the shop. There was nothing more satisfying than being self-employed.

   He walked briskly through the alleyway, dodging scantily-clad witches and wizards left and right. Theo smiled and wondered what their robe-wearing wizarding forefathers would have thought about that.

   By the time he ordered his usual turkey wrap at his favorite sandwich shop, the lunch crowd seemed to be in full surge with no intention of stopping. All desperate for a cold shelter, they crammed inside. Theo patted himself on the back for arriving earlier and took his order back to a small table in the rear of the shop.

   The wrap was fresh and seemed to be just what he needed. He was about halfway done when he heard someone laugh from the front of the shop. Frozen in his seat, Theo didn’t even need to look up to know who it was. The laugh was like a soft jingling of Christmas bells; a holiday in June.

   Colin gave his brother a playful shove on the line and traded his handful of coins for a sandwich. All the while, Dennis scanned the room for a couple of free seats. Theo didn’t know whether to hide under the table or just run out the door, but it looked like Dennis had made the decision for him.

   He elbowed his brother and motioned over to where the dark-haired man was currently paralyzed with a strange mix of emotions. Colin perked up immediately, like some little wind-up toy, and waved. Finding his motor skills still accessible, Theo gave a little wave back.

   “Hey,” Colin said loudly, walking across the crowd to the table. “Room for two more?”

   “Yeah,” Theo said, motioning to the free chairs.

   Dennis outstretched his hand across the table and the family resemblance was almost eerie. The same blonde hair, the same guileless smile… “Dennis Creevey.”

   “Theodore Nott,” he responded, giving him a hand shake since he was pretty unclear on what physical gesture he was supposed to greet the other man with. They’d mostly communicated through owls since their last date.

   Fortunately, Colin looked just as unsure. At least they were a part of this strange relationship-type-thing together. “How are you?” he asked eagerly.

   “I’m good, and you?” Theo replied, shifting forward in his chair.

   “Great,” Colin breathed. “Just doing some shots for The Quibbler on Harry and Ron’s case.”

   “He’s a regular hotshot,” Dennis grinned. His brother waved off the praise and sunk his teeth into his sandwich. Only he would go out in public to order peanut butter and jelly.

   Theo nodded in agreement anyway. “Draco says he loves all your displays. Maybe you could show them to me sometime?”

   “Definitely,” Colin responded quickly. They shared a pair of shy glances down and continued to eat. “If you’re, erm, free this weekend. That’d be perfect.”

   “I don’t exactly have a busy schedule,” Theo joked. “I’d love to.”

   Theodore felt like he was in school all over again. Maybe it was just the aspect of youth that Colin wore on his shoulders so well, bringing them back to the days of nail-biting and study sessions. The most vivid trait of it had been when he kissed Colin. He could hear swing sets creaking and ice-cream truck music playing. It made Theo wonder if he grew up too fast.

   “So,” Dennis started to fill the silence, taking a big bite of his sandwich. “My big brother here has got the hots for you.” Bits of lettuce flew out of his mouth when he talked, but that was the least of their concerns.

   “Dennis,” Colin hissed, giving his arm a solid punch.

   “It’s true,” he continued. “Won’t shut his big trap about you, honestly.”

   “Is that so?” Theo grinned, his nervousness now secondary to his curiosity.

   Colin’s face turned an almost comical shade of red as his brother continued. “Oh, hell yeah. Colin’s gone mad.” ‘Sorry’, Colin mouthed as his brother continued to ramble on. “He’s a total sap about it. I suppose you like that sort of thing though, hm?”

   “Dennis!” Colin considered burying his face in his hands and never looking up again.

   “Aw, come on. I’m just fucking around,” Dennis grinned for a moment before his face turned serious. “Really, though. You have to promise me you won’t mess it up, because if you do, I will mess you up.”

   “ _Dennis_!”

   A genuine smile crept across Theo’s face. “I’ll try my best,” he said honestly. His hands were shaking a little, but he found Colin’s feet under the table and finished off his turkey wrap.

******

   People were dropping like flies on the street. After seeing heatstroke after heatstroke, Draco was desperate for some variety and conversation with people who knew how to drink water.

   Luckily, Hermione was on her way in. She had fretted about the meeting at her office all day, having thrown up during lunch as well. The more and more she thought about it, the more worried she became. They’d need to buy a new house for a nursery, she would have to go on maternity leave, and not to mention the actual horrifying event of _giving birth_.

   The whole thing had jarred the happiness of her promotion. It almost felt wrong; to have worked so hard for something only to see it spoiled at the start. Her higher-ups wouldn’t fire her over it, but being a woman in the workforce was hard enough already. Often times, people viewed her as either bitchy or weak, limiting her entire sliding scale of emotions down to two labels. She didn’t want to start off on the wrong foot being a supervisor, and the last thing she needed was people looking down at her.

   She checked in with the secretaries and they directed her towards an examination room, and Hermione suddenly felt herself regret even coming. It was an effort to bridge the gap between Harry’s future husband and herself, but she was no longer entirely sure she wanted Draco Malfoy asking her about her sexual behavior with Ron.

   As if she could feel any more out of place, a group of medi-witches and medi-wizards began walking down the hall towards her. At the head of the pack was Pansy Parkinson, surrounded by her laughing friends. Even the redhead whose name escaped Hermione was there.

   “And so then I’m like, ‘Mrs. Black, I’m afraid I have no idea what you mean’, and she’s all— Hermione?” The brunette stopped dead in her tracks.

   “Hello,” Hermione said tersely, picking up her pace.

   “Hey, wait,” she responded, giving Maggie’s wrist a squeeze before abandoning her group and running after the Gryffindor.

   Figuring she had no choice at this point, Hermione turned around and grasped her purse tightly to her shoulder. “Yes? What is it?”

   “What are you doing around here?” Pansy asked with no real malice. It was surprising hearing her not having an alternative motive in her questions. Or maybe this alternative motive was too subtle to pick up on a bad day for Hermione.

   “I’m a little… Under the weather,” she lied.

   The Slytherin frowned, looking her up and down. “Are you running a temperature? There _have_ been a couple of outbreaks of a certain strain of virus around here.”

   “No, really, it’s all fine. I’m going to see Draco about it anyway.”

   “He’s the best,” Pansy nodded. Working with him gave her the insight to see that he really was talented at what he did. Nobody needed to buy his way in, he never needed to name drop, he was just plain good.

   “So I’ve heard,” Hermione replied, turning to walk away.

   Once again, Pansy stopped her. “But you’ll… be better tonight, right?”

   “I think so…” she said, her face scrunched in confusion. “Why do you ask?”

   “No reason,” Pansy told her quickly. In her pocket, the tip of her wand began to glow bright red. “Oh, that’s my cue. People to save, sorry. See you around!” She was gone as quick as she had arrived, running down the corridor. Hermione shook her head; that girl was an enigma.

   The walls held a sickly smell of disease, something that Hermione couldn’t stand. It brought her back to how she’d waited with Ron outside of Harry’s hospital room, hoping he would awaken. She’d done that far too many times for Harry and Ron alike. Thinking of having to do it with a child at her side made her even more concerned.

   When she finally reached the exam room, Draco was waiting there for her with a clipboard in hand. “Hello,” he said with a smile. “Usually I’d say some bullshit about who I am, how I’m your Healer, and how you’re in safe hands, but it’s been a long day.”

   “I know the feeling,” Hermione replied, moving to sit down on the patient’s cushion and placing her purse on the floor.

   “So.”

   “So.”

   “What a long, strange road has led us both here,” Draco reflected with a laugh. Hermione had been the victim of most of his teasing and bullying as a child, bearing the brunt of his insecurities.

   Luckily, Hermione saw the humor in it too. She let out a laugh that sounded on the verge of breaking into something much more melancholy. “I’ll say. Never exactly thought you’d be the first one I’d tell about this.”

   “Right,” he agreed. “Were you planning on it? I mean, mothers usually are a little more excited—“

   “ _Don’t_ call me a mother,” Hermione said in a quiet panic. It could have been because of the heat outside, but she felt herself sweating.

   Draco nodded. “Oh. Do you not want to keep it? You seem to be in your first trimester, so it’s just a blob of cells. There are potions for that…”

   She shook her head ‘no’ and pinned a strand of hair behind her ear. “I have the proper income for a child, there’s no need.” Hermione had advocated for women’s rights on the subject for years, but didn’t feel she was able to do it herself.

   “Okay,” he said, checking a box off. “Were you using protection?”

   “Yes. Every time, I was sure of that,” Hermione answered.

   “Here’s something I never thought I’d say out loud. Hermione, when was the last time you menstruated?”

   Laughing to herself again, she sat back and thought. “I missed it last month; it’s never quite been regular. I thought that maybe it would just come again this month, and I was wrong.”

   Draco nodded. “Are you planning on taking any prenatal potions or vitamins? They’ve been proven helpful in the past for expectant moth—women.”

   “I have no idea,” Hermione said honestly. “Ron and I wanted to wait a few years; I only was _just_ promoted at work… I guess like most things him and I do, this has some pretty inopportune timing.” From their first kiss in the middle of a war to their wedding in a middle of a storm, they never quite seemed to be able to get their scheduling right.

   When Hermione mentioned her promotion, she noticed Draco shift a little and move down to sit in the Healer’s chair. “Right. So, there are a whole bunch of options for you. The fetus is too young to determine a gender, and I wouldn’t recommend using any magical devices to scan… Have you been suffering from morning sickness?”

   “Yes,” she answered miserably. “At the absolute worst times.”

   Draco gave her what he hoped was a sympathetic smile. “I’ll prescribe you something for that.” He scribbled it down in his neat handwriting, priding himself on not having the scratchy penmanship that most Healers developed.

   “Could you… I mean, I want to be the first one to tell Ron and Harry.”

   “Sure,” he said, a little surprised. “Healer and patient confidentiality and all that. I wouldn’t tell them unless you wanted me to.”

   “Thanks,” she said. It was rather odd of her to feel this anxious over something, usually tackling whatever was in front of her with a precise force.

   Draco moved forward a little in his chair. “If it, you know, makes anything easier… I think you’ll be a great parent.” He hoped the admission would dispel any awkwardness in the air.

   Hermione took a deep breath. “I hope so.” Everything in her life was carefully planned, but children were rarely careful. The thought of being too strict or becoming too stressed out loomed over her like a dark cloud.

   “You will be,” he said again with more determination. “I was awful to you in school. You were always so resilient, though. You never let anything beat you down.”

   “You weren’t dependent on my love and attention twenty-four seven,” she pointed out.

   “Yeah, but that’s the easy part. You’ll love your kid, it’s the losing your independence and becoming engulfed in The Clan of The Motherhood.”

   Draco always had an uncanny ability to apply jokes to the worst of situations. “If I ever talk about purchasing one of those flying SUVs, you need to shake me.”

   “And shake you I shall,” Draco said with a smile. “Your Gryffindor children will mock you if I don’t.”

   “They could be whatever house that suits them.” Talking to someone, even Draco Malfoy, had begun to sooth the maw of doubt that had started within her. “They’ll have to call you Uncle Draco,” she grinned.

   “I am _nobody’s_ uncle.”

   Hermione shook her head. “Watch it, Malfoy, or I’ll make you and Harry the godfathers,” she teased.

   His eyes expanded in horror. “No, no, a thousand times no. We can’t even decide on our own child situation.”

   “There’s a situation?” she asked, suddenly curious. Harry had never brought it up to her… Then again, she wasn’t exactly forthcoming about her own pregnancy.

   “It is That of Which We Do Not Speak,” Draco nodded. “He wants lots of them and all of the drool that comes with them, while I, on the other hand, would be awful at it.” Harry had tried to bring it up a few times again, but Draco had always managed to change the subject. At least they weren’t able to get pregnant; the amount of shagging they did would have doomed them to a quiverfull household.

   Having to defend parenthood was a strange twist in her appointment. “Kids aren’t just about drool, they’re about family.” She was surprised the sentence even came out of her mouth. “You’ll be legal family soon.”

   “I know,” he muttered. Suddenly, he had an idea. “Your image of me isn’t clouded by an undying love for everything I do.”

   “It’s certainly not,” Hermione scoffed, taken aback by his rather obvious discovery. That whole idea was simply ludicrous. Not even in all the multiple universes out there could Hermione ever, ever not love Ron.

   The gears in Draco’s mind were turning. “Then tell me. Do you think I would make a good father? Be honest. I’m not usually the one who needs an outside opinion, but…”

   “But you don’t want to get into something you can’t handle?”

   “Exactly,” he said, glad she understood. Draco felt rather vulnerable asking her, but he needed to know. If Hermione trusted him to talk about her own body, then he figured his own trust had been earned.

   Hermione thought long and hard about her answer. So long, Draco had begun to worry. “I think you wouldn’t make the same mistakes you’ve watched happen,” she said, trying to avoid accusing his father of the several mistakes he made. “You would make sure that your kids got a proper education, were always happy, and most of all you would always let them know how proud you are of them.”

   Now it was his turn to thank her. “Wow. Thanks.”

   “In spite of everything,” she said honestly. “I wouldn’t lie to you. Harry and you work so well together, and there’s so much caring between you two. I’m sure that you could extend that caring to at least one child. Maybe even more.”

   Draco shot her a smile. “We’ll see, I suppose. Really, though, _you’ll_ be fine. The brightest career mum of your age.”

   She honestly could have gagged at the wordplay, but it was still sort of funny. “I almost can’t believe it. What were those prenatal potions again?”

   Reaching in his pocket to pull out a magically expanding sheet, the two went over her options.

******

   “She’s coming!” Ron stage-whispered, sending the room full of their friends scrambling to hide behind his and Hermione’s furniture.

   Hermione ascended her staircase with a prescription for prenatal potions and morning sickness potions, filled by none other than Theodore Nott. He’d been discreet about the whole thing, and had actually been in such a good mood he’d hummed to himself the entire time he brewed. Hermione really thought back on how much time she had been spending with the people she considered her enemies in Hogwarts.

   Wanting nothing more than a moment alone with Ron to tell him the news, she turned her key in the lock. She was confused at how dark it was when she entered, and she fumbled for the light switch.

   “SURPRISE!” the crowd yelled as she flipped on the lamps. She nearly jumped out of her heels, her husband standing in the middle of the room with his arms outstretched.

   “Congratulations on your promotion, love,” he said with a broad smile. Unlike Draco, Hermione had never felt the need to vocalize her contempt for surprise parties. There had never been one until that moment. Either way, she did her best to smile and look appreciative. At least it seemed like her friends had brought a potluck of food. After all, she was eating for two now.

   Everyone from Seamus Finnigan to Harry was in attendance, with Draco on his arm. It even seemed that Draco’s half of their wedding party was there, explaining Pansy’s odd behavior. “Ron,” she said. “You really shouldn’t have.”

   “Aw, it was no problem,” he replied cheerily, bringing her in for a hug and a kiss.

   Over the night, Hermione made her way around the room. She thanked everyone for coming, stashed her bag of potions, and declined any champagne with the excuse that she had to get up early the next day.

   “We knew you’d do it,” Harry declared, his emerald eyes showing no sign of knowing her current situation. She was thankful, for once, that he was so damned obvious. After shooting Draco a thankful glance, she moved back to her husband.

   “So proud of you,” Ron mumbled in her ear, putting an arm around her. “You’re brilliant.”

   Hermione gave him a kiss on the cheek. He’d just have to wait for another time for his paternity news. At least she was entirely mad for the man who had knocked her up. She laughed at the thought, kissing away the confused look on the man’s face.


	18. Folie à Deux

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Translation: The madness shared by two. Couples take steps forwards and backwards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not going to lie, I signed Draco up for a wedding planning site and have been using their inspiration boards, seating charts, and a dozen other helpful things to plan this. I love weddings with an unhealthy passion. Thanks again for reading, favorite-ing, and reviewing! Also, the queer:straight ratio in this fic right now is about 1:1, so it has inadvertently become my dream world.

**Chapter 18: Folie à Deux**

   “You’re kidding me.”

   “I am so not!”

   “You tried to _give up Harry Potter to Voldemort_? You’re a hoot.”

   An annoyed huff escaped Pansy. “You did ask what my most regretted moment was. But as a bonus, the second most is when I tried to snog Draco at the Yule Ball. It was Hogwarts’ year to host the tri-wizard tournament, and that damned dance was the worst of it.”

   Maggie found that absolutely hilarious. “Did he squirm away? I can’t even imagine him pretending to be straight.”

   “Not only did he squirm, but I was so persistent that he wound up splashing punch on my _brand new_ dress to get me off of him,” Pansy remembered, leaning back against the cushioned booth seat.

   “How typically Draco.”

   She smiled, never having had any other girl to talk about her best male friend with. “He can be such a diva, can’t he?”

   “Entirely,” Maggie agreed. “But hey, what can I say? I like hanging around primadonnas.”

   Pansy was about to flip her hair in annoyance when she saw Maggie’s point. “It’s tough work looking this good,” she said honestly.

   “And lots of hours in front of a mirror, I’m guessing?” she asked flippantly.

   “Is it not worth it?” she challenged. Glamour spells were her addiction. Along with mani-pedis, hair stylists, and anything self-indulgent that made her feel beautiful. Some could call it artificial; she called it relaxation and happiness.

   Maggie looked her up and down from across the booth. “I suppose it is, Princess.”

   “Okay, _Red_ ,” Pansy said defiantly, having tried out several nicknames for her coworker. None came up to the ‘Princess’ tier, though. “It’s your turn. Truth or dare?” She took another mozzarella stick off of the appetizer plate and bit in. The cheese wound up stretching to about an arm’s length, defeating the seductive purpose. Maggie, on the other hand, was scarfing food down as she pleased. She would be damned if she went to a diner with one of the richest girls in the wizarding world and didn’t order every single item on the menu.

   “Dare,” she answered boldly, taking a huge bite of a garlic breadstick.

   The brunette leaned across the table smiling viciously. “I have a few in mind. Maybe I’ll save those for later tonight… But, I always come prepared. I’ll call the waiter over; this is going to be a tough one.”

   “I’ll be fine,” Maggie snorted. “If it winds up being too much, then you get two rounds next.”

   Pansy considered it for a moment. “Fine,” she responded as she began waving impatiently. The waiter seemed new on the job, unused to being called like a lapdog with a tray of food on its back.

   “Your entrees are being worked on by the chef right now—“

   “It’s not about those,” Pansy said innocently. “Tell me, do you serve breakfast?”

   Maggie raised an eyebrow. She was very sure that this wasn’t going to end well. “Yes, we do,” the waiter said. “Would you like to order anything off of that menu?”

   “That won’t be necessary. All we need is a shot glass and a few packets of syrup. You can do that for us, can’t you?”

   “ _Syrup_?” Maggie’s nose scrunched.

   “Of course! That will be all.” Pansy shot the waiter a grin and shooed him away with her hand. “To make it official: I dare you to take a shot of syrup.”

   “Princess, that’s hardly a risky dare.”

   “I know,” she replied with an innocent tone. “I just happen to love the taste of syrup. On pancakes, on waffles, on French toast… Most things in the morning. Oh, there’s the help!”

   The waiter returned looking rather confused, but put the shot along with the syrup packets down on the table between the two women. “Will you need anything else?”

   “That’s it for now,” Pansy said and waved him away. He turned on his heels and went back towards the kitchen, hoping she didn’t see him roll his eyes.

   Maggie opened the sugary containers and poured the syrup into the glass without even needing to be forced. She cast her bright eyes up to Pansy before licking a drop of syrup off of her fingertip. Without any warning, she knocked back the shot.

   After making a face and slamming it down on the table, Maggie let out a disgusted shudder. “Too sweet.”

   “No such thing,” Pansy informed her, watching with a devilish grin as Maggie downed her cup of water. It couldn’t be helped that her guilty pleasure involved sugar. Both she and Draco shared a sweet tooth, and every Halloween they went wild with both their costumes and their bags of candy. Who would pass up a day when it was socially acceptable to bang down stranger’s doors and seize their food for free?

   “So.” She wiped her mouth off. “Truth or dare? I’m going to have to exact my revenge.”

   “For the sake of self-preservation, truth,” responded Pansy.

   Before Maggie was even able to ask, the waiter returned with their meals. The redhead grabbed her juicy burger while Pansy gracefully accepted her dragon-fire chicken and pasta. He looked strangely at the empty syrup shot and shuddered before walking away.

   The best part about being out with Maggie was her extreme lack of table manners. Elbows planted on the table, talking with her mouth full, and not even bothering to put a napkin over her lap. “Trufth,” she said with a mouth full of meat. “Are yoh shingle?”

   “Am I what?” Pansy asked in part horror and part amusement. At least she wasn’t afraid to get a little messy.

   “Single,” Maggie affirmed after swallowing.

   “Of course,” she said. “Don’t you read all The Prophet has to say about my horizontal life and my current lack of action?”

   Maggie laughed as if that was the funniest thing she’d ever heard. “I don’t even read The Prophet, let alone gossip. That Skeeter woman has been trying to break into the hospital to claw at Draco’s personal life. Also, Princess, you strike me more as the vertical type.”

   “Oh, do I?” She was interested in where that was leading. Mostly because she was right.

    “Definitely. I can see it in the way you work. Always in control,” Maggie stated, taking another bite of her burger. The whole thing shouldn’t have been attractive at all, but the steak sauce smeared on her lips suggested otherwise.

   Pansy neatly twirled her fork around the serving of spaghetti around her plate. “Anyway, I believe it’s my time to do the asking. Truth or dare?”

   “Truth,” she responded before shoving a fry in her mouth, not very eager to drink any more condiments.

   “How much do you think about what I do in bed?” Pansy referred to her last statement.

   Not even fazed, Maggie continued to munch on her fries, looking up towards the ceiling like she was trying to count in her head. “How much? As in, how many times a day, or—“

   “Is it a multiple times a day sort of thing?” she asked eagerly. While she considered herself Salazar’s gift to wizarding and witching kind, it always boosted her ego to imagine others fantasizing about her. Pansy couldn’t help it if she exuded sexuality.

   “Slow down there, Princess,” she laughed. “You happen to be very attractive is all. I don’t fuck on the first date.”

   “So this is our first date?” It seemed Maggie was full of surprises. Pansy hadn’t been on a proper date in what seemed like years. She preferred casual relationships. All the fun of having a significant other without all that bothersome responsibility and emotional baggage was a quite appealing deal. The whole ‘relationship’ thing had never really worked out with Pansy, but her policy on trying things out with new people was as flexible as her legs.

   Maggie shrugged. “It could be if you want it to. No pressure, though.”

   “A diner _is_ a little cliché,” Pansy sighed.

   “I promise I won’t make you take me to some drive-in muggle movie.”

   “Then it’s a date,” she replied, popping a forkful of chicken into her mouth.

******

   Sirius rolled over to face the man next to him in bed. “You are really something, Mssr. Moony,” he gasped out, his breathing uneven. He was covered in sweat, the silk ties that had held him down easily glided to the floor.

   “Not half bad yourself, Mssr. Padfoot,” he murmured into his shoulder. Their room was warm and comforting, the night heat drifting in from an open window. “The neighbors may have heard us again.”

   “Bugger the neighbors.”

   “The only one you’re allowed to bugger is me,” Remus reminded him, using his wand to clean them off.

   Sirius chuckled to himself. “Then I’m sorry to inform you I’m having several lurid affairs. Most of them with affluent politicians and movie stars. Really, it’s a wonder how I keep track of all of them.”

   “I could always get you a day planner.”

   “Bugger day planners as well. I am a man of my own volition,” he declared, stretching back into the pillows. “I go where the wind takes me.”

   Nudging his nose into Sirius’ forehead, he smiled. “Your many endeavors have proven that. Are you ever going to finish that scuba-diving course?” It had been his latest flight of fancy, since the weather was warm and the Caribbean optimal for treasure hunting.

   “I was too much for them to handle, really. Who needs certification? I’m more of a pirate than a privateer, you know? “

   “What did you do to get kicked out?” Remus asked without any pretense of surprise.

   He pressed a kiss to the nape of his neck; Sirius immersed himself in the memory. Usually, it was his knack for recalling things vividly that made him miserable. It felt refreshing to use his talents for good. “Apparently, it is Very Much Against The Rules to use your animagus form underwater with thousands of galleons of equipment on.”

   “You could have gotten the bends, as a dog nonetheless.” Sometimes, Sirius’ ability to throw caution passed the wind and to another planet entirely worried his husband.

   Snorting out a laugh, he wrapped an arm around Remus’ waist and pressed them together even closer. “But I didn’t! That, and I hope I die as a dog. It’s honestly my more natural form in spite of the fleas. Padfoot just wanted to lick some fish is all.”

   “Next time, ask me to make salmon for dinner,” he told him. Remus would prefer to keep his house pet and spouse around.

   “If you insist,” he said, nuzzling into their covers. Once he was completely immersed in fabric, he popped up on one elbow. Sex tired most people out, but with Sirius it invigorated him. It was almost his goal afterwards to keep Remus up for another couple of hours. “Remus, tell me a story.”

   Remus closed his eyes and thought, his scars relaxing on his face. “Once upon a time,” Remus started as the lamps began to turn off. “There was a Padfoot who was very tired and decided to shut up and go to sleep. They all lived happily ever after, the end.”

   “You’ve told better,” Sirius commented. “But you are the one that told me that stories are never about people. That they’re about things, feelings, themes, universal stuff… You phrased it better.”

   Sirius always seemed to remember the strangest things. It still made Remus feel warm inside when he mentioned details from conversations they had years ago. “You’re right. Hmm, let’s see… I could always read you some Fitzgerald, if you like.”

   “Nope,” he chirped happily, still leaning on his elbow while his free hand played with Remus’ hair. “I want a Moony Original.”

   “I am unfortunately all out of those right now,” Remus said, his eyes still closed. “I could reread you the wedding scene from Jane Eyre.”

   Sirius mulled it over. His husband had a perfect reading voice. It was expressive enough to give him a feel of the characters, but never over the top. It lulled him into dreams of the Jazz Age and Victorian romances. “I think I’ve had enough wedding business with Harry and Draco. I’ve been owling them both back and forth about it, if you can believe that.”

   “Sadly, I can. How are those two holding up?”

   “The planning and all is going just fine, they’re on some schedule that Draco concocted that no doubt is making Harry crazy, but they’ve both got their separate apprehensions about it. I feel like their secret confidant. It’s almost too much pressure,” Sirius lamented.

   “Poor thing,” Remus said with a smile, opening his eyes to give him a kiss. “Is Draco still reluctant about the matter of children?”

   “Which makes Harry feel reluctant about committing to someone who doesn’t want a big family. I feel like we should be helping them. We’re their fairy godfathers. Literally,” he noted. “I already volunteered to be their officiator, but I still feel like we could do more.” One of Sirius’ other brief obsessions was becoming an officiant for couples in their wedded bliss. He’d gone around marrying gay couples in front of conservative establishments for at least a week.

   Remus was glad that they were able to find a little humor in everything. “I don’t think we’re the best example on the subject of parenthood.”

   “We’ve got a cat!” Sirius argued.

   “And where is he?”

   Sirius scanned the room with his eyes. “Well, not here. I think he doesn’t like Padfoot’s smell. That’s okay, though. He’s still our baby.”

   “He’s still a _feline_ ,” he reminded him.

   “And we’re canines. It only seems right.” Sirius seemed entirely pleased with that explanation in spite of its logistical errors.

   Remus simply shook his head in the pillows. “Either way, I don’t think a cat really measures up to having a child. He’s not about to go to school or ask us for emotional support.”

   “He may not in human languages, but I’m very sure when he wants to cuddle it is because he’s going through a lot as a teenage tomcat.”

   “Sirius,” he laughed. “We don’t have _children_.”

   The animagus took a deep breath and settled back into the mattress, falling silent. The fantasy was broken. Remus turned to face him in concern, smoothing back his long black locks. “I know we don’t,” Sirius mumbled, his stormy eyes looking up to Remus. He found himself wishing he knew what to say.

   “Padfoot, did you—“

   “No,” he cut him off, feeling guilty for even bringing it up. They were too old, they were too busy, and there were too many full moons… “I just _know_. That we don’t have any.” They had Harry, Draco, the Weasley kids, several other students that Remus had… But no Lupins.

   Remus nodded, pulling the covers up around the both of them with the distinct feeling that he had done something wrong. “Do you still want that story?” he tried.

   “Yeah,” Sirius said quietly, giving him a small smile and getting ready to listen.

******

   Above all, Draco’s favorite way to wind down from work was make lists. It may sound stressful to anyone else, but for him there was nothing more cathartic. The current list in his hand was a headcount of those attending his assuredly perfect wedding day.

   “What’s the big deal? All we have to do is write numbers down on cards,” Harry said.

   “The ‘big deal’ is that we have to avoid seating ex-Death Eaters next to Order members,” Draco insisted. The rift between the two sides had closed enough for the likes of the Ministry, but he was looking to avoid fights and conflict at his own reception. “I don’t want Sirius and my father getting into a debate on politics.”

   Harry saw the logic there. “It’d be less of a debate and more of a brawl.”

   “Exactly.” He smoothed out the transparency of the reception hall on their bedspread. The violet seat cards were already filled out with the name of each guest in Draco’s immaculate handwriting, all they needed was their place. “Alright, so here is our head table. The cake will be to the right and the bar along with the food buffet to the left…”

   “When do we get to pick out the menu?” Harry pressed. He was at least looking forward to an expensive-tasting meal, in spite of the issues his wallet had with it.

   Draco wagged his finger in front of Harry’s face. “Seats first. We can meet with the venue this weekend and discuss food options. We are having an open bar, though.”

   Now his wallet was really in pain. “Er…”

   “Harry, are you really concerned about money? We’re both so loaded that it should never have to matter. You saw the figures on that prenup,” he said with a smile, tucking a stray strand of dark hair behind Harry’s ear.

   “Don’t remind me,” he groaned, still a little sore from the whole experience. At least the bar was in relative distance to the head table.

   “So, then the guest sign-in book will be in the front hall.” Draco’s pale fingers danced over the sheet until they reached a spot on the side of the room. “And the DJ will be here.” Harry hadn’t noticed it before, but with every touch the laminated paper seemed to produce small growing structures. It gave them a three-dimensional view of their reception, and made it all the more real.

   “Wow,” he breathed. He could envision all of it now.

   Draco smiled. “Now here comes the hard part.” His fingers fluttered over the sheet again and four more tables materialized out of the sheer material. “Where to put everyone.”

    “Let’s do it table by table,” Harry said, trying to keep everything rational and a little bit distant. He didn’t want to reignite the Third Wizarding War that was most of Draco and his arguments.

   He nodded in response, glad they both had a clear head on the subject. “For starters, the head table. There are thirty-two people in attendance—“

   “I thought there were thirty.”

   “I forgot about the bloody Weasley spawns,” he sighed.

   Harry appreciated the irony in that. “So, just Victoire and Fred Junior, right?”

   “Believe me, I didn’t want children messing with the centerpieces either,” Draco groaned.

   “They’re good kids, though. Always fun at the Weasley Christmas get-together,” Harry reminded him. “Well-behaved enough not to mess with your intricate flower designs.”

   “One can only hope.” Draco produced his list of guests and handed it to Harry. “So, there are ten seats at the head table. You and I, Pansy and Theo, Hermione and Ron, Remus and Sirius, along with my parents… Should we be putting Theo there?”

   “Why not?”

   Draco realized he hadn’t told Harry the surprising development in Theo’s love life. “My plan for him and Colin is working out splendidly.”

   Harry’s jaw nearly dropped in shock. “That _worked_?”

   “Oh ye of little faith,” Draco chastised. “Of course it did. I already managed to snare one Gryffindor for myself, figured I should share my abilities with my darling Theopolus.” He hadn’t even realized he’s slipped into a childhood nickname for him.

   “Theopolus? What, the Greek god of potions?” he teased.

   Actually, Draco quite liked that idea. “Yes, yes he is. But I think as my best man he should probably sit at the head table so he can make an embarrassing toast. That, and he and Pansy need to be on my left to separate some of the less agreeable members of our wedding party.”

   “So we’re definitely putting your father on the entire opposite end of Sirius,” he grinned.

   Draco moved in closer to him and placed their cards on the polar sides of the head table. “That’s the plan. We’ll put their spouses next to them… Ron and Hermione next to the Lupins, Theo and Pansy next to my parents.” The cards flew to their matching seats. “That should be enough space to deter any possible violence.”

   “They will just have to stay a required five feet away from one another at the buffet table.” Harry rested his head on Draco’s shoulder.

   “Knowing Sirius’ appetite, we might need to actually make that a rule,” Draco smirked. He was glad to have some family on his side, at least. His mother and Sirius alike had dropped the Black name, but he still felt wonderfully close to him.

   Harry motioned towards the table towards the lower right of the seating setup. “We could put the kids there, with their parents. Since there are six seats and it’s sort of towards the back.”

   “Genius,” Draco breathed, the compliment slipping out of his lips. Six place cards fell into a circle formation around the table. “Plus, the table over _there_ ,” Draco pointed to a rectangular table with five seats. “Could hold all of the other adults. Arthur, Molly, Charlie… Does Charlie have a boyfriend?”

   “He didn’t have a ‘plus one’ on his RSVP,” Harry remembered. “Guess not.”

   “Good, because there simply wouldn’t be room. We could then stick Minerva and Hagrid in there and be done with it.” Draco had no idea why Harry had so fervently insisted on inviting a half-giant and their former professor. Even so, if having them there softened the blow of the foul mood Lucius was probably going to be in, he supposed he could compromise a little for his fiancée. The small pieces of purple paper swirled into place like autumn leaves.

   Two tables were left, but at least more than half of them had been seated. “And the other five-seat one?”

   “I was thinking of spreading some of your friends there,” Draco said.

   “ _Our_ friends.”

   Draco held in a dramatic sigh. “Our friends who started out as yours.”

   “That’s better,” he said with a smile, giving Draco a kiss on the cheek. “So, Ginny with Dean and Seamus… Oh, and Neville and Luna could go there too. They all get along well.”

   “Thank fuck for it,” Draco laughed. He had urged all of his friends –damn the ‘our’ nonsense—to play nice with everyone, but he wasn’t about to seat them together and expect them to kiss and make up. There were just some things that Slytherins and Gryffindors, even the ones who loved each other, could never agree on.

   “That leaves Maggie, Blaise, and the Creeveys. Who is Greg dating again?” Harry asked, unable to keep track of the on-again off-again relationships of Draco’s posse.

   Holding in his disdain for that Greg had chosen to go see, he answered. “Hannah Abbott. She was a Hufflepuff, which means Greg is dead to me.”

   “Aw, come on.” Harry gave him a little shove. “We know some great Hufflepuffs.”

   “Name _five_. I dare you.”

   “Tonks, Cedric—“

   “Five that didn’t get themselves killed,” Draco snarked, the words falling out of his mouth before he could even stop them.

   Harry turned his head to look at him, aghast. “ _Draco._ ”

   “Perhaps I didn’t phrase that correctly.” He scrambled backwards to try and recover what he said. “What I meant was, you know, not that.”

   “Very smooth,” Harry said with a hint of bitterness.

   Pressing a kiss to his shoulder, Draco tried to figure out a way to make it up to him without having to use the fatal ‘I’m sorry’. “So we put the last five people there, then. All done.”

   “Draco.”

   “It was just a slip of the tongue!” he insisted, resting a hand on Harry’s neck.

   “Say it,” Harry said imperiously, his body language tensing.

   It was strange to hear a command coming from Harry’s mouth. Usually it was Draco doing the ordering. “Do I _have_ to? Don’t you understand without that bloody song and dance?”

   “It’s not a ‘song and dance’, it’s two words.”

   It was sort of torture, but he looked Harry in the eyes and owned up anyway. “I’m sorry,” he admitted quickly. “There, happy?”

   “I forgive you,” Harry said, like he always did. Draco was always doing something that needed forgiveness, and he wondered if Harry was far too accepting of his flaws. When a normal person became anxious about an upcoming day, they usually didn’t dredge up old deaths that their fiancée thought they were the cause of.

   Draco unfurled another piece of laminated parchment.

   “Erm, I thought you said we were done,” Harry protested.

   “With the reception, sure. But now we need one for the ceremony! I’m torn between putting my father in the front or the back. In the back, nobody could hear him object, even though he’d probably be offended.”

   “Are we actually including that line?” he said skeptically. There were too many places already for people to disagree with their union; there was no need for an official one.

   Even though it was ill-advised, Draco still thought it was necessary. “It’s tradition. Plus, if nobody says anything, we’ll have bragging rights for the rest of our lives. If someone ever tries to tell us they thought we wouldn’t work out, we’ll bring it up.”

   “How Slytherin of you,” he grinned. “Now, let’s do this so we can go to bed, hm?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, if you check the mbfpw tag on my tumblr (queenymidas), I made the seating chart on one of my wedding sites. I have a very detailed concept of fic planning.


	19. Thursday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing ever happens on Thursdays! Sort of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all the reviews and the influx of favorites this suddenly got. I decided to give you a little something in return with this chapter, since I love a kinky Drarry fic. Hope you like it!

**Chapter 19: Thursday**

   The two woke up to the stylings of Lilly Allen with a tired groan. After giving everyone a seat at both the reception and the ceremony, it had wound up being very, very late at night. They had been too exhausted to even bother putting the laminations away, tossing them to the side of the bed and slipping on pyjama pants. Harry smashed down on the alarm button, coming to a decision.

   “We should fake sick,” Harry mumbled, once he caught sight of what time it was. They only had about fifteen minutes left to get dressed and eat since they had already hit the snooze button twice, but neither made a move to get out of bed. It was simply too comfortable, too warm, and too safe. It was their little sanctuary facing the storm of a starting day.

   Draco hadn’t even opened his eyes. “I’m glad to see my deceptive ways had rubbed off on you.”

   “That’s not the only thing of yours rubbing on me,” he teased, turning over and cupping his erection through the silky pyjama pants. Draco squirmed into him, shifting close in the bed. He really was rather easy in the morning. It was a wonder that the hardest –and admittedly best— lay in gay London was so eager to be with one person for the rest of his life. “It’s a _Thursday_. What the hell even happens on Thursdays?”

   “I cannot believe _you_ are the one trying to charm us into lying.”

   “I know,” he laughed, continuing his light strokes. “Maybe I should have been in Slytherin.”

   The blonde let out a snort and peeled his eyes open, giving Harry a kiss and leaning his hips further onto him. “You? Gooey, brave, chivalrous… You’re a lion cub.”

   Harry smiled at the pet name. It was one that Draco used rarely, to make sure he wasn’t being too cloying or getting too attached to anything but ‘Harry’. After years of calling him ‘Potter’, even that felt like a nickname. Sometimes it astounded Harry how things had changed, how people could always change. “Let’s call in sick,” he said again.

   “What would we do all day?” Draco asked, suddenly interested in his idea.

   “Each other,” Harry said plainly and shoved his hands down the front of his pyjamas. Draco wasn’t even wearing underwear, which made things much easier. His fingers curled around Draco’s cock, wrapping tight.

   He responded with a frustrated groan, pulling him close. “Come on, I’ve got hands of my own, Harry. If we’re going to laze around all day, you better have something in store.”

   Rising to his challenges were a never-ending game for Harry. He loved it. Harry pulled back and sat up on his haunches, looking down at Draco’s sleepy form. It was just plain wrong to be that attractive even in the grogginess of morning. “I think I’ve got something.”

   “Oh? What’s that?” Draco asked with a mock-innocence, shifting to rest on his elbows.

   Harry simply smiled and laid back down the other way so that his head was at the foot of the bed. He stretched out languidly, like a cat. “Why don’t you come here and find out?” he responded with a challenge of his own.

   Always ready and able for a roll in sheets with the Boy Who Lived, Draco crawled on top of him. Their lips met in the middle, but the real pressure was on their hips. He shamelessly rutted him into their mattress, thanking himself for not wearing a shirt that night.

   Harry was about to tell him his plan when Draco sat up. He shimmed out of the confining silk fabric, allowing his cock to spring free. “Big boy,” Harry purred, leaning up to kiss the tip.

   “Salazar,” Draco breathed out in shock.

   “Really? I’ve barely even touched you yet.”

   “No, not you.” He waved him away and reached over to the trunk at the foot of their bed. On the light wood, a wanted poster for the Madam thrown there last night after Harry had come in frustrated about the case. “ _Her_.”

   Confused, Harry turned to see what he was looking at. “Oh, we should probably move that.” The case had been haunting Harry and Ron both, and the lull of activity led them to believe they were now getting into buildings so efficiently that the owners didn’t even know it.

   “No,” Draco said, snatching it up and furrowing his brow. He couldn’t place it, but he had seen someone like her a hundred times before. The neat haircut, the expensive earrings…

   “Er, I don’t know about you, but I definitely don’t like to look at murderous women when I’m shagging you—“

   The Slytherin shot him an annoyed look. “I’m not going to shag you looking at her, I just… Doesn’t she seem familiar?”

   His eyes wild with a discovery, Harry shot up next to him to look at the picture again. “I never recognized her, even when she was in front of me. Do you recognize her?” he asked hopefully.

   “It says she has grey eyes,” Draco mentioned quietly. “I can’t quite place it, I really can’t. But she’s a pureblood for sure. Look at those cheekbones, absolutely impeccable breeding.”

   Harry had never heard that said about anything but show dogs. “Where do you remember seeing her?”

   He shook his head, moving to cross his legs and concentrate. “It’s a million years away,” he said softly. “I feel like I used to know someone who _looked_ like her. This isn’t very helpful at all, is it?” The swirl and pomp of song and dance, the women covering their mouths while they giggled and sipped champagne… Draco, Greg, and Vince had all run through the legs of important Ministry officials, debutants, and people so rich they didn’t need to lift a finger. It was the golden era of excess, a gathering of people so wealthy they’d lost touch with reality. It didn’t even matter if it was a holiday. There was always a party, a dance, or some premiere that required the attendance of the old blood of the world. He could close his eyes and hear the orchestras playing, running around the dance floor until his mother lifted him up and told him not to make a scene.

   When Narcissa had finally calmed her son, she would take her husband’s arm and dance. They would twirl around the floor in a flurry of colors with all of the crème de la crème of the wizarding world surrounding them. All of those colors had started to fade as Draco got older, the brilliant reds and greens dimming.

   “Draco?” Harry asked carefully, breaking the spell.

   “I don’t know.” His parents had always been the one more invested in the parties. Some were even hosted at the Manor. Lucius would gracefully accept Pansy’s arm and lead her around the estate, telling her that if she was lucky enough to marry Draco, all of it would be hers. She felt like a kid in a candy shop full of forced love. At least it would have made a pretty family portrait.

   Harry regretted what he was about to say the second it came to his mind. “If she’s a part of all of that pureblood stuff… Would your parents know?” From the tidbits of what Draco told him about the Manor’s galas and events, it seemed that they had a connection with almost everyone that shared their blood purity.

   “Maybe,” he shrugged, running a hand through his hair. Narcissa would at the very least have some advice on the matter. “You should probably talk to them, though. I’ll go with you.”

   “No,” Harry sighed. “You’re late enough to work as is.” His risqué afternoon had crumbled as soon as it was built in his mind. The last thing he wanted was Draco’s stubborn boss chewing him out again after the horrific incident with Skeeter.

   “We might as well milk it,” he suggested.

   Harry considered the idea, seeing his twisted logic. “We had an issue with the floo system, and we felt that if we apparated then we would splinch something.”

   Draco nodded, putting the wanted poster back onto the trunk. “Right. What exactly did you have planned, though?” he asked slyly.

   “I may or may not have bought a little something for you.”

   “Oh, Harry,” he grinned. “Every day is Christmas with you. Tell me what you’ve got.”

   A sparkle in his eye, Harry sat up and gave him a quick kiss. “We _are_ both already late. On top of that, it’s a _Thursday_. I could always show you now.” He walked to the closet and fished out a discreetly labeled bag from their favorite sex shop. Shopping for the honeymoon would definitely be Harry’s favorite expedition so far.

   When Harry produced the green riding crop and gave it a little swish in the air, Draco licked his lips. “Hand it here.”

   He obeyed quickly, handing over the leather handle.

   “You’re a love,” Draco said smoothly, inspecting it further. “Now why don’t you kneel down and let me break it in?”

   Stepping out of his pyjama pants, Harry had a feeling they would be very late for work.

   As he moved into position on their bed, Harry felt the restraints coil around his wrists. They pinned him to the headboard, which was actually their fifth headboard. Things usually got a little crazy when they committed to it. They were always careful enough to pick a safe word, though. It seemed their furniture was the only victim in the situation.

   Without warning, Draco brought the crop down on his arse. The sting brought Harry back to present and he let out a whimper. “One,” he managed.

   “Look at how good you’re being,” Draco said, shifting into the voice he used when he was dominating Harry. “First you bring me a toy, and now you even remember to count?” He traced the leather down his spine and Harry shivered. Draco cracked the leather on him again, making a bright red stripe across his arse.

   “Two,” Harry shuddered as Draco traced the mark with a finger. He was mostly intimidated by what happened if he forgot to count.

   “I think I’ll give you ten,” he decided. “After all, wouldn’t want to explain to my parents what a naughty little thing you are when you can’t properly sit down. Then they’ll really know what I’m marrying into. I _am_ going to make you wear these all day.”

   The idea made Harry’s cock twitch. Handing over control to Draco was his ultimate kink. He’d wear anything Draco told him to, _do_ anything he wanted. The only time he needed to use the safe word was when they were running out of time before New Year’s dinner at the Burrow. “Yes, Sir.”

   Draco smirked and gave him another spank lower on his thighs.

   “Three,” he gasped out.

   Admiring the curve of his back, Draco ran his hands down his sides. Harry was helpless to his touch, letting out a small moan. “Wanton whore,” Draco accused with a grin. Even though Harry had only been with three men in his entire life, nothing got him going like dirty talk. He’d never call anyone that outside of their shagging, but something about it turned him on. Especially the humiliation bit that came with it. Draco drank it in like he was unquenchably thirsty, being the one completely reigning over the Golden Boy. His childhood self would have been proud.

   His cock began to leak with the next one, square on his arse. “Four,” he groaned, struggling against his bonds.

   “Look at you,” he murmured, giving the fresh stripe a pinch. “Squirming for me.” Harry let out a pitiful noise, leaning into his touch no matter how rough.

   “Five,” he hissed as the sting hit him again, the lower half of his body feeling like someone had lit it on fire.

   Feeling a little merciful, Draco ran a hand up his thigh. “Open your legs.” Harry did so immediately and without question, submitting entirely to his fiancée’s whim. Draco’s hand reached between them and tugged at his neglected cock. “So hard for me,” Draco said into his shoulder, pumping his hand a few times before letting go and backing off entirely.

   “ _Please_ —“ Harry begged before the next thwack of the crop echoed in the room. “ _Fuck_. Six.”

   “Too hard?” Draco asked with a mock-pity.

   “No, Sir,” he insisted, eagerly wriggling in the silk fabric that held his wrists down.

   The blonde grinned ear to ear. “You are such a little glutton for pain. My masochist.”

   “All yours, Sir,” he confirmed.

   “Good boy.” Draco, now rock hard himself, resumed his authority. He gave him three spanks in rapid fire, covering his arse in welts.

   “Seven, eight, nine—“ Harry cried out with each blow. His body was pulsing with pure need; he could feel it racing through him at an alarming rate. Arching into every crack, he let out a whimper of confusion when Draco stopped. He had half a mind to start frotting the headboard for some relief.

   Biding his time, Draco spread Harry’s arse cheeks and admired his work. The streaks looked sore to the touch, and Harry had been so very good at being subjugated so early in the morning. “You look so fucking gorgeous right now,” he said, enraptured. “Harry Potter, oh how The Prophet would pay to see you like this. Everyone’s great bloody hero, a complete cockslut.”

   Harry let out a quiet moan, the words reaching deep within him. Slowly over their relationship, Harry had built up the courage to tell him exactly what it was he liked in bed. It had been a little bit of a shock to Draco, but the more he thought about it the more everything seemed to fall into place.

   “I want you to beg for this last one,” he purred. “I want to hear how badly you want it.”

   He wasted no time giving Draco what he wanted. “Please, fuck, I need you. I need _this_. I want it, I really fucking do. Please, Sir.”

   Draco dug his fingers in Harry’s dark locks and gave a sharp tug. “Who owns you?”

   “You do,” he shouted out, ready to do anything to appease him.

   With that, Draco cranked back the riding crop to slam into his arse one last time. Harry’s cock jumped with the impact, pre-come sliding down his shaft.

  “Ten,” he whined, the black silk keeping him tied to the headboard. Pulling against the restraints, he found they wouldn’t budge.

   “That’s my ickle pet,” Draco said happily and kept him in place. “The question is: What to do with you now? Hm…” He grabbed the scruff of his neck, observing how Harry had bit down on his lower lip during the flogging. “Such a pretty little mouth.”

   In one swift motion, Draco wandlessly undid the bonds and flipped Harry onto his stomach. His reddened arse was lifted perkily in the air, and he couldn’t resist giving it another squeeze. “ _Sir_ ,” Harry whimpered.

   “Oh, shut up. That mouth has many other things to be doing,” he said as the firm grip on his arse guided Harry’s puffed red lips towards the tip of his cock. Without needing any further prompting, Harry began to suck on the head.

   Slowly, he moved down to the base, hollowing out his cheeks and using his throat to make Draco howl. They were both riskily close, and Draco was making the best of it. He kept his fingers deeply rooted in Harry’s ludicrously soft hair and thrust into his mouth.

   Harry was so desperate for a little touch that he began to rub himself on the sheets. Once Draco caught sight of it, he let out a breathy laugh and wrapped his hand around Harry’s dripping member. He was a sadist, but he wasn’t callous.

   Moaning around his mouthful, Harry knew the rules when they messed around like this. He couldn’t come until Draco allowed him to. The punishment for that was beyond severe, and he’d only gone through it twice.

   “Not yet,” the blonde warned him, recognizing the signs in his body language. “After me, you can.”

   Harry’s eyes flicked up to Draco’s to show that he understood, and took him in even deeper and faster. At least nobody could say he didn’t work for what he got.

   All it took was a few bobs of his head more and Draco’s body rocked with orgasm. Relieved, Harry finally allowed himself to come into Draco’s hand, covering his arm. Letting his limp cock slide out of his mouth, Harry rested his forehead on Draco’s thigh.

   “What do you say?” Draco panted.

   “Thank you, Sir.”

   Smiling, Draco collapsed back onto the bed. His thumb rubbed behind Harry’s ear as his stomach rose and fell. “Pye is going to be so red in the face,” he said blissfully.

   “Treating yourself to a day off?” Harry replied.

   “Of course. I’ve worked hard enough today already.”

   Harry laughed and nuzzled his face into Draco’s leg. “Yeah, and I have to go talk to your parents now.”

   “We could always have a round two when you get home,” Draco replied airily. Being with Harry made him feel like a horny teenager all over again.

   “We’ll see,” he laughed, pulling himself up. “You were serious about me keeping these all day?” The welts throbbed even against their soft sheets, and he remembered the pain of all the days Draco made him go out in public after an exhilarating session.

   Draco propped himself up and watched Harry move around the room for clothes. “Of course. Wouldn’t want to disobey me, I’ve got a pretty nasty temper.”

   “Wouldn’t dream of it,” Harry snarked before giving him a quick kiss and slipping on his comfiest pair of trousers. Even they hurt. “Love you,” he affirmed, grabbing the wanted poster off the trunk.

   “I love you, too. Be careful to avoid the chairs in the guest rooms, they’re severe.”

   Harry flipped him the bird before closing the door.

******

   Gerda ran back through the door when she finished guiding Harry to the dining room, mumbling to herself as her footsteps disappeared into the hallway. Harry had insisted once again that she call him by his first name, but she had only shaken her head as if she feared being struck.

   “Well, well, well. To what do I owe this surprise?” Lucius asked, looking up from his brunch. The sunlight cascaded in through the windows and illuminated the entire room to the point of where they didn’t even need the floating candles.

   Harry gave him a thin smile. “I’m actually here on business.”

   “Oh? Come to arrest me?” he taunted, forking a bite of his Belgium waffle into his mouth. It would have been funny if that wasn’t one of the situations Draco and Harry enjoyed roleplaying so much.

   “No,” he said a little too quickly. “Draco was looking at this picture, a wanted poster, and thought that you or Narcissa would be able to tell who it was.” He walked up to the table and put the poster down in front of his meal.

   Lucius didn’t even look at it, continuing what he believed to be sociable behavior. “Sit down,” he said in a voice that bordered on commanding. “You look famished.”

   As if his body was intent on betraying him, Harry’s stomach growled. It may have been because of the ‘all sex and no breakfast’ bit of his morning, or it was from the nervousness of being alone with Lucius. “No, really, it’s fine. I don’t need to. I should actually get going soon, so—“

   “I insist,” Lucius informed him. He rang a bell to call the house elf back into the room. Now was certainly a hell of a time to start acting civilly towards Harry. Maybe, if he was lucky, the food would be poisoned. “Fetch us another plate for Harry, Gerda.”

   The creature nodded and rushed towards the kitchen. Harry honestly felt horrible for her. “It’s okay. You don’t need to make her do anything, all I need is for you to tell me—“

   “Sit.”

   Left with no other choice, Harry put on his best poker-face and pulled a chair out. “Right,” he said, looking down at the cushion. Even standing made his legs feel weak.

   “Did you forget how to?” Lucius asked with a hint of a smile in his eyes. His attempts at joking were borderline alarming.

   “No, of course not,” he said, bracing himself and sitting down. Pain shot through his arse and he let out what he hoped was a quiet squeak. When he looked up to Lucius he realized it wasn’t so quiet. “Anyway. The wanted poster.”

   His future father-in-law looked at him like he was touched in the head. His eyes hadn’t so much as scanned the woman’s face when Gerda returned with a plate of piping, sugar covered, and heavenly soft Belgium waffles. Harry almost wanted to cry. “Took you long enough,” Lucius snapped at the house elf.

   “Thank you,” Harry said sincerely to the tiny green elf, trying to outweigh Lucius’ criticism.

   “That’s not any way to treat the help,” he reminded Harry sternly.

   “She’s not ‘help’, she’s a person.” Harry was in a world of pain and he was sticking to his damned guns. He took a bite out of the waffle, trying not to let out a whimper. Even so, he shoveled down the food without remorse. He wondered how Draco’s father would react to his reason for needing so much stamina-boosting nutrition.

   Lucius simply acted as if he never head what Harry had said. “What did you need me to look at?”

   “The poster,” Harry clarified after swallowing, trying to find a more comfortable position in the chair.

   When Lucius _finally_ looked down at the parchment, he nearly dropped his fork. “Who is this supposed to be?”

   “We have no idea,” Harry admitted, a little frustrated that Lucius hadn’t listened to his preface of the evidence search. “I was hoping you knew.”

   It looked as if the older man was holding his breath, and Harry could almost see the realization in his eyes. Finally, he’d be able to bring those murderers to justice; finally he’d have a route to pursue, finally—

   “I have no idea who this is.”

   “What?” Harry asked, forgetting how painful it was to lean forward in a simple dining room chair.

   “I’ve never met them,” Lucius said, sliding the poster over the table towards him with his grey eyes glued on the tablecloth.

   Frustrated, Harry pushed the poster back. “Yes, you have. She’s probably a pureblood woman; she was talking about the destruction of ‘her brothers and sisters’.” All of the clues made sense, it just seemed liked Lucius was holding something huge back.

   “Contrary to popular belief, I do not know every pureblood who says they don’t like what’s happening to our society,” he snarled.

   “I never meant to imply that, it’s just that Draco said—“

   “Draco was wrong,” Lucius cut in harshly. He took a moment to collect himself and looked Harry dead in the eyes. “I’m sorry I couldn’t have been of more help.”

   “No,” Harry said stubbornly, ignoring his aches. “You recognize her. Who is she?” He didn’t care if it would wreck the relationship they had so carefully built, he needed to know. It was his job and lives were at stake.

   “I already told you, I don’t know her. Is this some kind of interrogation? Because I do not appreciate—“

   “Harry?” A surprised voice came from the door. Harry turned around with a wince to see that Narcissa was standing in the archway leading in. “Hello, dear. What a surprise, I would have dressed a little more finely.”

   “You look lovely,” he said honestly. Just because her robes weren’t adorned in jewels as always didn’t take away from her timeless appearance.

   Narcissa smiled and took a seat next to him. “So, what brings you here? I believe it is a bit late to ask our permission for Draco’s hand,” she smiled.

   “Actually—“

   “He was just leaving,” Lucius finished, handing him back the wanted poster.

   Reaching out for the paper with an innocent curiosity, Narcissa looked over the back. “Your work?”

   “Yes, actually,” Harry said. He ignored the daggers he was getting from Lucius. “I’m searching for someone who has information on a case.”

   Narcissa flipped it to the front side, her eyes widening in shock. “Lucius, doesn’t this look like—“

   “I know, but she’s already been through too much—“

   “Yes, yes, but if Harry wants information—“

   “But he’s looking at her as a suspect for—“

   “What did sweet Matilda Crabbe do?” Narcissa asked, turning to Harry and stopping the semi-conversation with her husband.

   “ _Crabbe_?” Harry was shocked to hear that name again. “Are you sure?”

   “It is only a sketch,” Lucius pointed out. His defense of the woman struck Harry as suspicious.

   His future mother-in-law turned to him. “You should be gentle when talking to her,” she advised. “Things simply haven’t been the same since… You know.”

   Harry nodded, accepting back the poster. He hadn’t really seen how Vincent’s death had impacted his friends until he started going out with Draco. They made a cake on his birthday, got drunk on his death day… And with his father in jail, the only Crabbe left was Matilda. The sweet old woman didn’t exactly fit the role of the Madam, but if she had been identified he had no choice but to bring her in for questioning. “Thank you.”

   “You’re welcome, dear. I hope everything works out with your case.” Narcissa gave him an encouraging smile that almost made him feel a little warm.

   Receiving no more than a grunted ‘goodbye’ from Lucius, Harry saw himself out and apparated back to the office.


	20. House Full of Babies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some are better off with kids, some better off without.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! I just started school again and this chapter has been written in my head for so, so long. The title of this chapter comes from a short one-act play that I participated in a show for over the summer. Thanks for all of your support, reviews, and favorites.

**Chapter 20: House Full of Babies**

“Matilda Crabbe! Auror department, open the door!” Ron shouted, banging a fist on the carved maple. Harry and three other Aurors backed him up, wands drawn and ready to spring. When they were met with nothing but silence, Ron knocked again. “Mrs. Crabbe, if you don’t open the door, we’ll be forced to open it by force.”

   Harry readied an ‘Alohamora’ when the door remained sealed. It had been the third and the last Crabbe estate, the other two entirely empty. The second one had even been missing furniture. When the Ministry had said they were planning on making the Death Eaters pay for their crimes, they weren’t kidding. The Malfoys had suffered the least of the damage after the war, even though now most of the pureblood elite and general public shunned them for different reasons. Draco’s coming out had both hindered and helped them in strange ways.

   “Matilda Crabbe! Dammit, this better not be like the others,” Ron muttered angrily, giving Harry the signal to cast the charm.

   Harry cast it wordlessly and watched as the doors practically flung off their handles. The house moaned as if injured. “Let’s go.” They assumed their usual position, covering the house and checking first to make sure the rooms were clear.

   This manse was even more decrepit than the last one had been. The furniture was still there, but Harry almost wished it wasn’t. Everything was covered in spider webs and cobwebs alike, and the floorboards creaked angrily. If anyone was hiding in the house, they’d certainly be alerted to their presence. Then again, if anyone was in the house, they were probably dying of asbestos poisoning.

   Entering the kitchen, Harry stumbled back like he had been struck. The smell of rot and decay greeted him. There were still plates on the kitchen table, surrounded by flies. It looked like the world had simply hit the ‘pause’ button, and the owners would returning shortly. There was even a coat full of moth bites hung on one of the chairs. The term ‘in Medias res’ came to mind. “Clear,” Harry alerted the others, seeing no signs of actual life. Just past lives.

   Like many of the other estates, there was obvious vandalism. Whether or not those scraping a ‘Death to those who ate it!’ were actually affected by Death Eaters wasn’t even a real question. Almost everyone in the wizarding world had seen the horrors committed by Voldemort’s most loyal. The Crabbe family was no exception.

   When Harry walked back to the foyer, the grand staircase seemed to be occupied by all of his coworkers. “What are you—“

   Ron put his finger to his lips, motioning up the rickety steps. At the top, a shadow made its way across the embroidered fabrics hanging from the ceiling. The scenes on them were covered in dust and lost to time without house elves keeping them pristine. Harry’s first thought was that the shadow was making an escape attempt, so there was no time to lose. He ascended with the other Aurors, trusting them implicitly. They were all his second family. Well, his second family was the Weasleys, his third was Remus and Sirius, and somehow Draco’s family fit into that… Anyway, he trusted his brothers and sisters in black with his life.

   There was almost a blue shadow over the house. The rules of sunlight didn’t seem to apply to windows streaked so terribly that they were fogged over. It made him feel like he was in some cheesy horror movie. Ron considered using the deluminator in his pocket, but didn’t want to give themselves away more than they already had.

   Quickly, Harry gave the nod to go all the way up. Briefly thinking of how Draco had told him not to charge blindly into danger, he adjusted his glasses. All at once, they surged towards the shadow shifting behind the withering tapestries.

   “Petrificus Totalus!” one of the Aurors behind him yelled, her spell striking their target. Ron bolted up towards the fallen shape.

   It wasn’t exactly what they expected. The frozen, horror-struck face of a teenage-looking boy stared back up at them. “Er,” Ron said, face twisting in confusion. “So I’m guessing this isn’t Matilda Crabbe.”

   “Pretty much,” Harry nodded, crouching down next to him. “We should clear the rest of the second floor and get this kid to St. Mungo’s.”

   Rising to his feet, Ron couldn’t help but agree. The other three Aurors fanned out around the house. Their search was futile, but that was expected at this point. “Yeah, Kinglsey’s going to need some sort of explanation when his parents come looking around.”

   “Why doesn’t Potter take him to the hospital? After all, he has friends in high places,” she said with a hint of lechery.

   Harry let out a snort. She was right. “Sure. I’ll get him there, but this was the last home she was registered as the owner for. We need to have a plan, and fast.”

   “Once we tell the press it’s a Death Eater’s wife we’re looking for, they’ll be all over it,” Ron shrugged. “If anyone sees her, we’ll know.”

   “So we’re just supposed to _wait_?” Harry demanded. “She killed someone! Or her accomplice did.”

   Ron gave him a sympathetic look. “Right now, we’re going to bring the kid to the hospital and see if he saw anything.” Harry was easily frustrated, and Ron had known that as long as he’d known Harry. On top of the fact that they rarely got any real cases, this real one turned out to be a mess of dead ends and unanswered questions.

   “Fine,” Harry sighed. He grabbed ahold of the kid’s arms, trying to hold him in a safe position for apparation. They had been trained to make their body binds last a day or so, needing to talk to the victims of the spell was usually a priority. It was hard to come by an open-shut case in the wizarding world. “Hold tight. You know, if you can.”

   Usually, those who had been petrified were needed for questioning shortly after, and the researchers at the Ministry had done their best to make sure that happened.

   With a loud crack, Auror Potter transported the petrified young boy to a room smelling a hell of a lot better than the slumping old house. He was a little off in his aim, and wound up in his fiancée’s empty office. The boy’s dark eyes looked up like they were judging him. “What? You were the one creeping around in a wanted woman’s house.”

   He dragged him out into the hall, flagging down a medi-wizard. “Hey, sorry about the strange entrance, but we,” he dug into his pocket and produced his Auror certifications. “Need him ready to answer some of our questions.”

   “I’ll get him to a Healer,” the man said, using his wand to levitate him. Harry wondered why he hadn’t simply done that in the first place. “And you’re really… You’re Harry Potter?”

   “That I am,” he replied, not in the mood for a brush with an adoring fan. “Anyway, I’ve really should be going, so—“

   “Harry?” Draco shouted from down the hall, squinting to see if he was wrong. His white robes fell around his frame, making him look almost divine. It made Harry wonder what he would look like when they went down the aisle together.

   The brunette grinned as Draco neared him, a lopsided smile on his face. “I’m not Harry right now,” he responded. “I’m Auror Potter with Very Important Business.”

   “Well, ex _cuse_ me,” Draco laughed, giving him a quick kiss. “Is it classified?”

   “No, it’s only that we haven’t been able to find Crabbe. However, we did find this guy lurking about,” Harry said with a motion towards the medi-wizard guiding the levitating man down the corridor.

   Draco nodded, shrinking back from the topic. When Harry had rushed home that day to tell him they were searching for Vince’s mother, his stomach sank into his feet. It was too much and too soon. Maybe it would always be too soon. He wondered why Harry wasn’t as affected. Being the Gryffindor in the room and having been the original target of the wildfire, Draco expected some sort of emotional reaction.

   “Draco?”

   “Yeah?” he asked, refocusing.

   “Alright, so, don’t get mad, but… Ron sort of asked if we were free tonight,” he started, referring back to a conversation they had earlier in the day. Ron felt like Hermione had been a little off lately, and that maybe a night with a few close friends might fix everything up.

   Crossing his arms, Draco shot him a reproachful look. “And you said…?”

   “I told him the truth! It’s not like we’re holed up in appointments. The florist is on Wednesday.” Harry had finally gotten to keeping track of their wedding schedule since an hour long appointment usually took an entire evening.

   Momentarily caught off guard by Harry’s recollection of their meetings and the fact that he was on his way to a patient, he was running out of time quickly. The woman waiting for his Healing assistance was suffering from a case of rampant vanishing sickness. “Look, fine, whatever. I’ve got patients waiting. Don’t sign me up for playtime without asking,” he reminded him. Harry’s constant love of the ‘we’ and ‘our’ words often roped Draco into things he had no idea were even happening.

   “It’s not ‘playtime’, it’s dinner. I’ll see you at home, okay?” Harry said, his tone soft and almost apologetic. He’d honestly just wanted to see Ron and Draco communicate without subtle jabs at the other’s masculinity.

   He ran a hand through his platinum hair and sighed angrily. Harry was so damned impossible when he tried to be cooperative. “Okay.”

******

   Draco Malfoy’s idea of an exciting night out did not include going on a double date like a bunch of giggling third years. He’d spent all day re-conjuring limbs and he was not even remotely ready for the Weasley baby talk. No doubt Hermione had told her adoring husband about their perfect, ginger offspring. If they gabbed the entire night about kids, he might scream. The thought of it only made him more annoyed.

   He had hoped they would go dancing, grab some drinks and find himself in bed with Harry at the end if the night, but over the years it was made very clear that the Weasel clan did not raise the partying sort. Hell, Ron even thought a bunch of people jumping out from behind a couch was a proper way to celebrate career advancement. It was practically archaic.

   “They owled me saying they grabbed a table,” Harry said as they walked down the street together. “Since, we are…” He glanced down at his left wrist. “Thirty minutes late.”

   “Oops,” Draco replied with an innocent smile, having tried to stall his best at home in the mirror. “Fashionably late, I suppose.”

   Harry knew it was a bad idea to accept Ron’s offer, but he always loved a good, friendly get-together. Those became even rarer and rarer when he started dating Draco. For some reason now that they were getting married, people were starting to come around. He congratulated himself for the hundredth time for having proposed to the most wonderful man he’d ever known. He linked their arms together. “Well, you do look _very_ beautiful.”

   “Just keep complimenting me and I may make it through the night.”

   “ _Draco_ ,” he whined, resting his head on his shoulder as they walked. “It’s not the first time we’ve done this.”

   “Yes, but the last time they suggested we go to the bar and shoot darts. _Darts_ , Harry,” Draco said as if it were unthinkable. Even the first time trying to go doubles wound up being a complete disaster. Hermione and Draco had gotten into a fight over house elf rights, Ron had spilt his water all over the table, and Harry had considered running out every time someone had referred to Draco as his ‘current date’ as if it were transient and pointed out an attractive man at another table.

   Kissing his shoulder, Harry smiled to himself. There was nobody out there like his Draco.

   By the time they reached the restaurant, they were forty minutes late. “Is this really the place? It’s practically a shack.” Draco was very hard to please, and it seemed Ron and Hermione were always coming up short. “And we’re in _muggle_ London. Tell me you didn’t drag me to a muggle joint like Sirius is always trying to do.”

   “Come on,” Harry groaned, practically dragging him in and leaving out the fact that the owners were as non-magical as one could be. There wasn’t even a host to seat them once they entered, so his eyes scanned the room for his best mates.

   “Over here! Took you long enough,” Ron called, waving a hand.

   Harry ignored Draco’s petulant huff and walked over with a smile on his face. “Hey, sorry about the time. We got held up,” he said, pulling out a chair with uneven legs. Not wanting to offend anyone, he discreetly used his wand to extend one of the wonky legs.

   “Hello,” Hermione greeted both of them. Harry noticed she was tense the second he looked up.

   “Yes, yes. What a great meeting of minds in this lovely… What is this place called again?” Draco said sardonically.

   Ron held in a quip about how with Draco’s fine breeding, he should have been able to read the sign. “The Blue Moon Pub. It’s always good for drinks and burgers.”

   Furrowing his brow in chagrin, he wondered why Ron would be bringing his pregnant wife to a pub. She was in her first trimester, but if Draco was ever banned from alcohol for nine months then he would probably throw a fit if Harry had any in front of him. Perhaps Hermione was admittedly more patient than Draco, but he didn’t know she was _this_ patient.

   It was when they were halfway through their drink orders when Draco realized that she wasn’t just patient, she was secretive. “Oh, I really couldn’t,” she insisted. “I really just want some ginger ale.”

   “Come on, Hermione. Live a little,” her husband teased.

   The recognition spread over Draco’s face. “Salazar,” he breathed.

   “Hm?” Harry asked, lazily twirling his coaster around the scratched-up table.

   “You haven’t—“ Draco started.

   “No,” Hermione answered him, eyes now slits. She wanted to nip this right in the bud.

   Ron and Harry exchanged confused looks and their waiter looked marginally uncomfortable. At least he wouldn’t be notifying The Prophet. “So, I’ll get that ginger ale. And for you, sir?” he asked Draco, not even knowing the connotation of that name.

   “Just water,” he said, waving him away. “But you’re still taking the…?”

   “Yes,” she answered under her breath. Hermione hadn’t found the time to tell her husband, but she had been taking the correct potions. “Now, as for an appetizer…”

   Still disoriented by their outburst, Ron leaned forward onto the rickety table. “Wait, taking what? _Draco_?” He wouldn’t put it past the partying ex-Death Eater with access to medical supplies to be dealing some kind of strange potion. It would have explained why Hermione was feeling so light-headed and tired lately.

   “Well, _Ron_ ,” Draco answered, saying his first name in the same condescending manner that he said his last name. “I’m afraid that’s not my question to answer.”

   Even Harry was thrown off, casting Ron a hapless look when he turned to him for some assistance in decoding his fiancée. For some strange reason, they were now both out of the loop. Harry wasn’t even aware they had spoken outside of interactions with him. “Draco,” he murmured, leaning in to his side. “What’s going on?”

   Instead of answering, he simply looked to Hermione. Obviously resentful of Draco’s inability to keep a juicy secret, she put her head in her hands. At least before this he hadn’t blabbed to Ron or Harry. “I didn’t want to tell you like this.”

   “Tell mewhat like this?” Ron asked, very close to panicking. His mind went to the worst possible option out of habit. Their lives had been rather action-packed, and at times it made a person paranoid.

   Hermione took his hand on the grungy table, and looked at him across what Draco had declared in his mind to be the most untidy place on earth. “I was going to tell you when we got home.”

   “Tell me _what_?” he repeated, frazzled. “And why does _Draco_ know before I do?”

   “You know, it doesn’t count if you still say each other’s first names like you want to hex each other,” Harry mumbled, receiving only a thigh pat of acknowledgement from Draco.

   Working up the nerve to tell him, Hermione gave Ron’s hand a little squeeze. “The reason Draco knows is because he’s a Healer.”

   “Is something wrong?” Ron questioned immediately. The whole conversation seemed rather out of place in the bloody Blue Moon Pub, and to make matters worse the waiter was returning with drink orders.

   He placed the platter of drinks down on the table, and then clasped his hands together in excitement. “It looks like you are our seven-thousandth table seated! Congratulations!” The rest of the serving team burst into applause with the rest of the drunken patrons, while the manager appeared in the door with a tray of flaming shots. She made her way over, singing some old bar tune incredibly out of key.

   After the hoots and hollers died down, the four were left with an alcohol fire burning brightly in front of them. “How do we even drink this?” Ron asked, temporarily distracted by the dancing blue flames.

   “You put your palm over the top of the glass, and when the fire dies out you take the shot,” Draco instructed, demonstrating as he spoke. The vodka burned in his throat, but it felt almost refreshing. Either way, it seemed his fiancée and his friends were a little less eager to jump into drinking liquid fire. Muggles sure had some strange Firewhiskey alternatives.

   “There’s a reason I’m not drinking,” Hermione said, trying to reign in the conversation back to its original topic. “Ron… I’m pregnant.” A stunned silence swept over Ron and Harry, with Draco left staring at the other shots and contemplating taking what his companions turned down. His urge to start drinking had increased with the stress of the wedding.

   “What?” Ron said so quietly that he may as well have said nothing at all.

   Hermione looked distraught, using her wand to quickly snub out the fires on the shot glasses so that the service staff didn’t notice. Draco almost whined in disappointment. “I knew you wouldn’t be happy about this, and I’m not either—“ she tried.

   “No, Hermione! I’m just, wow. We made a living thing. I am happy. This is just, uh, unexpected!”

   Harry couldn’t stop smiling. “That’s wonderful! You guys will make amazing parents, really,” he said, moving around the table to embrace Hermione in a hug along with Ron. Draco felt a little bit like puking the shot back up. They were actually having a _group hug_ on a _double date_. It was simply shameful.

   “It is unexpected,” Hermione admitted. “I know we didn’t plan it, and that I just became supervisor, but it’s getting a little late to change things.”

   “I wouldn’t change it,” Ron said, giving her a keen kiss. He seemed to be accepting the situation in waves. “We’re going to be parents.” His voice was full of disbelief. “ _Parents_.”

   “Wait until your mum finds out,” Harry grinned. Molly had fawned over ever grandchild that came her way, and she had poked at Hermione for information about their old childless state several times over Weasley dinners.

   “Congrats,” Draco said, taking another one of the cooled-down shots.

   Hermione gave him a hard glare. “Don’t you dare think you’re out of the woods just yet. You remembered what I threatened you with if you let it out.”

   “No,” Draco responded quickly. “No, no, _no no no_.”

   “Harry?” she turned to him, her voice dripping with kindness. “How would you and Draco feel about being the godfathers?”

   His fiancée looked like a kid on Christmas morning. “Really?” he asked, smiling broadly.

   “Really,” Ron agreed. He couldn’t think of anyone better for the job, in spite of his reservations about Draco being the other godfather.

   “Yes!” Harry answered before Draco could get another ‘no way in hell’ in. “Come on, Draco. We’ll be around their kid our whole lives; we may as well take the title.”

   The ‘our whole lives’ bit made him even more scared than he could properly articulate. Everything felt permanent, unchanging, and stuck. Draco had never reacted well to being backed into a corner. “Yeah,” he said dryly, reaching for another shot.

******

   For what seemed like the billionth time that week, Sirius could not sleep. He’d crept out of bed, careful not to wake Remus, and made his way to the back porch for a smoke. The first summer after the war he had slaved over that damned porch –including buying the property behind number twelve just to get it extended— and he would use it as he pleased.

   Business had been picking up, and he’d been spending less and less downtime at home. He thought he’d never be calling Grimmauld Place ‘home’ again, but Remus was there and that was all he needed. That, and the lights actually worked this time around.

   Taking a long drag in, he looked up at his star. Sirius was shining brightly, all the other stars seemed to fade away in embarrassment. He was right up there next to the waning moon. “Look at you,” Remus said, standing in the doorway. Sirius hadn’t even heard him open the door. Damned werewolf and his sneaky ways. “Taking up the whole sky like you own it.”

   “Yeah, yeah, you’re up there too,” Sirius murmured. “Did I wake you?”

   “Nah,” he replied, making his way to sit down next to Sirius on the porch. He wasn’t the biggest fan of Sirius’ smoking anymore, but everyone had their vices. On top of that, the amount of gillyweed they’d smoked in Hogwarts seemed to make him unable to really judge anyone too harshly.

   “Want a hit?” Sirius teased.

   “I think I’m fine watching you perish from lung cancer.”

   Sirius shrugged and blew a smoke circle at him. “Suit yourself.”

   Remus leaned his head on Sirius’ shoulder in spite of the ashy smell. “So, did you come out here to get some not-so-fresh air?”

   “Sort of,” Sirius muttered. “Couldn’t sleep.”

   “Nightmares?” he asked carefully. Being imprisoned in Azkaban did have lasting effects on one’s psyche. Sirius shook his head. “Hungry?”

   “Surprisingly, no,” he said with a grin. Usually, even when he wasn’t hungry, Sirius could competitively eat every one of their friends under the table. “It’s none of that.”

   He pressed a kiss to his shoulder. “Talk to me.” He could tell when something was amiss, he always could with Sirius.

   “This morning I broke a curse on some old chair, it tried to bite my foot off, though. In the afternoon I ran around the dog park simply because I could, and since I was very bored without you. Then you came home from tutoring, and you can pick up everything from there, I suppose,” Sirius told him, his cigarette getting shorter by the minute.

   Remus gave him a little shove. “Smartass.”

   Pretending to be offended, Sirius gave him a dramatic gasp. “Why, how dare you!”

   “Really, though,” Remus said, running a finger along his jawline. “What’s on your mind?”

   “Same things as I usually think about. Sniffing, digging, shagging you…”

   “Sirius.”

   “What?” he asked innocently. “You should be happy I’m still attracted to you after all these years. You’re one good-looking bloke.”

   With all the scars and grey hairs, Remus thought Sirius was insane. Then again, he never thought he was sane to begin with. “You poor, misguided man. I’m trying to be serious.” He recognized his fatal error immediately. “Don’t you even think about—“

   “I’m always Sirius!” he laughed, his voice a little raspy from the smoke. It was the pun that kept on giving.

   “ _Sirius_.”

   He took another drag and stared down at the lit cigarette in quiet contemplation. Decidedly done, he put it out on the underside of the deck. “It’s stupid,” he mumbled.

   “So was our entire fifth year,” he reminded Sirius.

   “I shouldn’t have waited until sixth year to kiss you.” Sirius seemed very determined in what he was saying, like it had been fermenting in his mind. “It took too long. Things could’ve been different, we could’ve had _time_.”

   Remus tilted his head in confusion, trying to look Sirius in the eyes. “I think you’ve definitely made up for that.” If anything, the only time they had wasted was when he was wrongly jailed.

   “No,” Sirius said. “The years in the first war, when we couldn’t trust anyone… We should have done things differently. _I_ should have done things differently. Then we would have had _time_.”

   “I thought we agreed that we couldn’t change the past,” Remus said softly, running his knuckles over Sirius’ neck. Sometimes, it felt like the past was a cloak they couldn’t quite shake off, but they had been working on it together.

   He sighed, leaning back into his hand. “I know, but _still_. We should have _time_.”

   “’Time’ for what?” Remus asked, not understanding why he kept using the word like it meant something more than it did.

   “You know, _things_.”

   “We have lots of things,” he reminded him, motioning back to the house. With Remus’ teaching and tutoring, combined with Sirius’ cursebreaking jobs and sale of his family heirlooms, they had enough money to buy whatever they wanted.

   Sirius shook his head. “Not like that.”

   “Oh,” Remus said quietly, realizing what he was talking about. “I didn’t know that you wanted, erm, that.”

   “I don’t, not at this age, but I…” Sirius took a deep breath. “I feel like we missed out.” Not wanting to agree too quickly, Remus stayed silent. “I’m happy, Moony, I really am. But sometimes I wonder, you know?”

   “I know.” He rested his chin on his knees, feeling like a young kid moving into their first flat all over again. Remus felt like he should have known what Sirius was thinking. They’d always had that strange, sentence-finishing sort of telepathy. Somehow, it felt as if he had failed his duty as a soulmate.

   Sirius suddenly wished he had his cigarette again. “I think we could have done it, too. I could’ve been Papa and you could’ve been Dad.”

   “Really?” he asked, close to laughing if only to keep himself from having an emotional reaction. “We can’t even keep track of our house keys.”

   “We found them eventually! Well, you did. You’d be the responsible parent.”

   “Yes, the one that goes mysteriously missing once every month,” Remus said bitterly.

   Sometimes it was hard to watch someone he loved beat themselves up so much for something that wasn’t even their fault. “Don’t even go there. You’re amazing with kids when you teach! Hell, if I was even half as good with them as you, or half as capable… I’d raise a whole house full of babies.”

   Remus laughed, reaching for his hand to lace their fingers together. “That would get messy.”

   “We have cleaning spells,” he pointed out. Remus could actually see him dissolving into the fantasy world. “I’d stay home to take care of them, you’d be the breadwinner. It’d be one hell of a ‘fuck you’ to gender roles.” Slowly, he came down off of him cloud. “If we had done it when we were young.”

   “If you wanted… We’re not exactly in the old folk’s home yet.”

   Sirius considered it, but only wound up shaking his head. “I don’t think I want to. Sometimes I wonder, is all.”

   Nodding, Remus brought his hand up for a kiss. “Are you sure, though? I don’t want you to feel like we can’t talk about it like a couple of normal people.”

   “I’m very glad we’re not normal! But, yes. I don’t think kids are necessary right now and I probably won’t ever, but I’ll let you know if that changes,” he promised.

   “I feel the same way. I like our little Lupin family of two.”

   Sirius pulled him in for a kiss, holding him tight. Remus was his family. Along with Harry, Draco, the Weasleys, and everyone else he had stayed close to after school. It was the family he picked for himself and all on his own, and it was good.


	21. Growing Old

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Growing old isn't easy for anyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have written and rewritten this chapter about five times. I hope this one is the best rewrite, because editing this became the bane of my existence for a while. Thanks for all your favorites and reviews! You guys are great

**Chapter 21: Growing Old**

   “They hugged, Pansy. They _hugged_ ,” Draco emphasized, leaning over the medi-witch’s cart.

   She looked her friend up and down, from his disheveled hair to his wrinkly robes. Beside him, Maggie stood sipping a bottle of coke. At least she wasn’t smoking. Taking a deep breath, Pansy knew that Draco needed some honesty right now. “I am saying this out of love, Draco, but you look like a complete mess. Not in a hot way, either.”

   “I _am_ a mess!” He’d drank everyone’s alcohol for them the night before, and even wound up being too drunk to say a proper goodbye. Harry was so annoyed with him in the morning that he left without exchanging more than three words with him. Bloody Gryffindors. On top of that, Harry would be at the hospital interviewing the kid who’d been sneaking around Vince’s summer house. Draco felt as if it had been violated by him. All of the memories of them running up and down the halls fell from in between his fingers. Maybe it was just because he felt violated in general. Even a hangover potion hadn’t been able to clear up his racing mind.

   Carefully, Pansy put her moisturized hand on his shoulder. “Maybe,” she said quietly. “You should take a break. Fix yourself up in the locker-room, get some food…”

   He shook his head. “I don’t need any _food_.”

   “Would you prefer therapy?” Maggie asked, flippant as ever.

   “Malfoys don’t do therapy,” he said sharply. In blatant horror, Draco realized he sounded exactly like his father. “Fuck. Fuck, fuck, _fuck_. Do you see what I’m saying? I’m going mad, and it’s all because they _hugged_!”

   “Okay, so they were being sentimental gits. What else is new?” Pansy shrugged. She figured since Draco lived with one of them, he would have seen something gushy like that coming. Or at least not have an aneurism over it.

   Draco took a second to gather his words. “What’s new is that they are having a _baby_ , and I am supposed to be the fucking godfather.”

   “Godfathers don’t have to do anything,” she replied, toying with a strand of her hair. “Severus was your godfather and he barely lifted a finger over it.”

   “Maybe that’s why Draco’s so crazy,” Maggie suggested with a grin. It was her own way of telling Draco that his fears weren’t as bad as he had built them up to be. Severus hadn’t really affected Draco that much at all, just like he would probably not affect his future godchild too greatly.

   Pansy held in a laugh the best she could. “There are many other reasons, dear.”

   ‘Dear’? Since in the hell did Pansy call Maggie her ‘dear’? Draco would have normally been all over that, but he was emotionally compromised. “You don’t understand. There are definitely responsibilities that come with the title. Responsibilities I never asked for! Harry just said ‘yes’ for the both of us because we’re a damned unit or something rather than two separate people,” he said, his voice getting louder. When people started to stare, he lowered his volume. “What I am trying to say, is that I cannot do this right now. When he gets here, just show him to his witness and tell him I’m in surgery and that I’m too drenched in blood to come out.”

   Maggie and Pansy exchanged a look before Pansy spoke again. “Fine. We’ll tell him that, and you go splash some water on your face.”

   “Whatever,” Draco murmured, sounding almost like an angsty teenager as he stalked away down the corridor.

   “What the hell has gotten into him?” Maggie asked. Underneath all of the sass and sarcasm, she was concerned. “Was a group hug really that traumatizing?”

   As Draco disappeared around a corner, Pansy tried to put the pieces of the puzzle together. “With Draco, it’s never about a group hug. Or a falling soufflé, or an ill-timed thunderstorm. He internalizes everything. In a way, the world really does revolve around him sometimes,” she said with a distant smile. “It could be paranoia from our admittedly well-to-do raising, the idea that everyone else’s lives affect him. Either way, that’s just how he is. He takes everything so personally.”

   The redhead nodded, her curls swaying with her head. It made sense. “So you’ve known Draco your whole life?”

   “Since we were kids,” Pansy said proudly. “We were born in the same year, so our parents thought they could arrange our marriage. When we got to Hogwarts, I quickly learned that wasn’t about to work out according to plan. Although, I did promise him that if worst came to worst, we could marry to please our parents and I’d look away while he screwed our pool boy.”

   “Sounds like a plan,” Maggie laughed. “If your pool boy was Harry Potter.”

   “I’m sure he’d offer his cleaning services at a modest price,” she replied slyly.

   “What, one kinky shag per hour?” Being Draco’s coworker for so long had allowed Maggie to have some insight into his strange life behind closed doors. They’d even played some rather revealing games of ‘truth or dare’ at the company Christmas party. It was Maggie’s favorite game, after all.

   Pansy giggled, looking around her to make sure nobody was watching. Wouldn’t want to clue The Prophet in on how down and dirty their friends liked to get. It wasn’t Pansy’s fault that people trusted her with information in spite of the knowledge she was an unchanging gossip. “Okay, so did he ever tell you about that one time where they dressed up in their old school uniforms and—“

   “Er, Pansy?” Harry asked, trying to make sure he was talking to the right medi-witch. When Pansy spun around and he saw her glittery eyeshadow, he felt relieved. “Thank Merlin it’s you. I’ve been wandering around this place for what feels like an hour, and I couldn’t even find Draco. Do you know where he is?” Harry wanted to have a sober conversation with him detailing just why he was given the cold shoulder that morning. Needless to say, he was angry.

   “Surgery,” Maggie and Pansy answered at once.

   “Oh. Okay, then. Which room is my witness in, then?” Harry asked. He was eager for a new development in his case to get his mind off of his fiancée’s strange behavior.

   Pansy stepped forward and pointed down the hall. “Just around the corner, there. Room five-hundred B. He’s bound to the bed, no chance of him getting out.”

   “Thanks,” Harry said with a nod, waving a small goodbye as he strode towards the room. At least it was cool enough in the hospital to not feel as if he was sweating to death in his black robes. Whoever’s bright idea that was happened to be in for a very stern talking-to from Harry.

   A St. Mungo’s guard stood watch by the door, and Harry flashed his badge for entrance to the room. When he was finally face-to-face with his only witness, it seemed a little off. The kid was shackled down to the stretcher, and didn’t look very happy about it. However, when he saw Harry was there, his face lit up. “You’re Harry Potter!”

   “Yes, yes I am,” Harry said, forcing a smile like it wasn’t the fifth time he’d heard that since he woke up. He moved to the chair beside the youth’s bed and took a seat. “And you are?”

   “Who I am doesn’t _matter_! I’m Will, though. You’re _the_ Harry Potter.” His blue eyes were as wide as lakes. “You were the youngest to ever kick arse in the Triwizard Tournament, you killed the Dark Lord as a teenager, you’re on your way to being Head Auror, and you’re a queer for someone who used to be on the enemy side! Your life is amazing. You’re like, my idol.”

   Harry had no idea what to say to that. “Er.”

   “I honestly worship the ground you walk on. Not in a creepy way, though! I promise,” he assured him. “Well, maybe in a creepy way. But only sometimes! It’s just, I’m sorry, you’re great, and, yeah.”

   “Okay, then,” Harry said slowly. He never knew how to react to fans. There should have been some sort of training seminar on how to deal with people putting you on posters in their rooms, or quoting things you said in interviews.

   “What I’m trying to say, is that you are pretty fucking awesome.”

   “You look sixteen years old. Where did you learn language like that?” he teased, trying to gain a little friendly ground with him. Ron could curse up a storm by age fifteen, but never in front of an adult. His fear of Molly washing out his mouth with soap was too great.

   “You think I’m sixteen?” he asked excitedly.

   Giving him a strange look, Harry shook his head. “I’m not the best at guessing ages. Everyone younger than me is sixteen; everyone older than me is forty.”

   The boy laughed as if that was the funniest thing in the world. “I’m actually fourteen. You’re off by two years.”

   “ _Fourteen_?” Harry asked, raising his eyebrows. He really was getting old. “Has the hospital contacted your parents yet? It’s usually customary for them to be here when I ask you questions.”

   “That’s why you’re my idol! You’re like me,” the boy stressed, leaning forward in the hospital bed. His eyes practically glowed with excitement against his tan skin, until he realized what exactly it was that Harry had asked him. He folded his hands in his lap, taking a deep breath. “My parents were killed during the second war, I live with my aunties.”

   Harry felt as if someone had just slapped him in the face. Whenever he met victims of the war, he blamed himself immediately. It had become as natural as blinking or breathing. “I am so, so sorry,” he offered, knowing that could never be enough. He tried to think of what he had wanted someone to say to him when he was a kid without parents, but all he came up with was telling himself about how great his future would be. In all honesty, he knew nothing about this kid. He only knew his name. ‘Will’.

   He shrugged. “It’s not your fault,” Will said as if it were obvious. Harry felt like kicking himself. Everyone was always telling him that, and now some kid was. It wasn’t any more believable out of his mouth.

   “Where are aunts, then?” Harry asked, trying to change the subject.

   “They’re at work right now.”

   “Right,” Harry remembered, feeling caught in between his adulthood and childhood all at once. Kids tended to do that to him. Even so, he couldn’t help but feel a little happier around them. It brought him back to the period before the war, when everything was a little lighter. The world hadn’t worn down on his shoulders yet, and he could sip pumpkin juice by the common room fire without knowledge of all the deaths he felt responsible for. “I’m just trying to figure out if you saw anything suspicious in the estate. Anything strange, or off... That place you were staying in—“

   “It used to be the Crabbe house, I know,” he cut him off. “That’s why I was there, because they hadn’t lived there since the war. My friends and I were hanging around it, friends from the neighborhood and stuff.”

   “Were any other of your friends inside the house?” Harry asked in a quiet panic. If a team of Aurors couldn’t find a couple of teenagers, how were they supposed to find a murderess was beyond him.

   To Harry’s relief, Will shook his head. “It was a dare. A _double-dog dare_. You can’t turn those down.”

   “I certainly never have,” he said with a smile. This kid was a resilient one, he knew that.

   “Yeah, so they dared me to spend the night in the house. They said it was haunted by the Crabbe that died in that fire. You were there, right?”

   Harry nodded. It wasn’t something he liked to think about. “I was there.” There to not stop one of Draco’s friends from being consumed by his own flames.

   “So, I tell ‘em there’s no damn way he haunts that place, we’d see him, you know? So I was sleeping there when you came in with Auror Weasley, who is totally cool also, and I didn’t know what to do.”

   “You can’t go back into that house,” Harry said sternly, now fearing for the child’s safety. “It’s falling apart, and you could hurt yourself. On top of that, there is an ongoing investigation with Mrs. Crabbe, which is why we thought you were her in the first place. You wouldn’t want your guardians to worry about you.”

   Will shrugged. “They were just pissed I got mixed up with Aurors again.”

   “Don’t worry, nobody is about to bring you in for trespassing. We only need to know what you saw,” Harry persuaded, trying to get him to open up. “You can trust me.”

   “Of course I can!” Will laughed. “I repeat, you are _Harry Potter_. Plus, the Crabbe family hated my aunts since they’re mudbloods.”

   “Woah, woah,” Harry said, stopping him right there. “That’s a really harsh word to use. My mother was a muggleborn, but it doesn’t matter who you are. Using that word isn’t right.” He’d trained Draco out of using it, and he’d be damned if he couldn’t do it to the whole wizarding world.

   “Sorry,” he said quietly. After years of living in that house, he had thought everyone said it.

   Sighing, Harry realized now wasn’t the time for a political correctness lesson. “Don’t be. I guess I’m only trying to tell you that the word offends certain people. Anyway, this has gone extremely off-topic. What I wanted to ask you was if you saw anyone in the house aside from yourself. A woman, maybe?”

   “Nope,” he answered frankly.

   “Are you sure?” Harry tried again, his heart sinking in his chest. He had really been counting on this being a lead.

   The teen nodded. “Nobody was there. Tommy lied.”

   Disappointed with the entire search, Harry started to get up. “Well, you can tell that to Tommy when you see him again at your house.” They were back to square one all over again.

   “No!” the boy said quickly, trying to reach his hand out towards Harry. “I can, erm, I can think really hard about whether or not I saw something while you stay here!”

   “Look, I’m sorry, but I really have other things to do—“

   “A circle!” he yelled, leaving Harry to freeze in his tracks. “In the cellar, there was a magic circle. It was the only place without cobwebs, I _swear_.”

   Harry tried to process what he just heard. “In the cellar?”

   “Yeah, there’s a door in the kitchen leading there!” Will answered happily. It was his dream to help Harry Potter solve a case, and he was living it. Harry, on the other hand, felt like hitting himself again. He’d been too distracted by the dower scene to have even noticed a door leading somewhere else. He really was off of his game that month.

   “Then we’ll go check that out right now. Thank you, that really does help.”

   “Promise you’ll come see me again?” he asked quickly, not wanting to give up his one possible shot at becoming friends with the greatest wizard in the world. Well, in the esteemed opinion of Will Gunner, he was the greatest.

   Maybe it was the whirring of the overhead lights that was driving Harry crazy, or the fact that he simply wanted to high-tail it out of there, but he considered it. “Sure,” he decided, apparating back to his office to tell Ron.

******

   Lucius shook his head, looking up to his wife. “You shouldn’t have said anything.”

   “If Matilda has done something against the law… I don’t know if you remember our history with the Ministry,” Narcissa responded sharply. “But I would prefer to stay within legal parameters.”

   “We would be staying in legal parameters if we stayed silent,” Lucius reminded her, adjusting his thin-framed glasses. He only wore them in comfort of his study, not willing to admit that his eyesight was leaving him. Piles upon piles of receipts and checks lay out before him in a black and white ocean.

   Narcissa didn’t even pause the process of her vanity potion, shaking her head right back at Lucius. “What’s done is done. I was merely trying to help our future son-in-law. I thought you were starting to come around to see that Harry is a permanent part of our Draco’s life.”

   “I am,” Lucius protested, scratching out a few more numbers with his quill. “But I will not stand for anyone going after Matilda.”

   “But if she’s really done what the papers are saying she has—“

   “Then she’s a troubled woman,” he said plainly, still engrossed in his knut-pinching. “I doubt she needs any more input from us on that.”

   Feeling a lump of anger rise in her throat, Narcissa tried to cool herself down. Lucius always seemed to act as if they owed her something. She never thought her husband would be the type to fall victim to survivor’s guilt when he wasn’t even involved in the incident in the Room of Requirement. “He cast those flames himself.”

   He let out a gasp of indignation. “I cannot believe you would even say that.” Vincent Crabbe cast that spell, but Death Eaters were the ones who taught it to him. Death Eaters told him that the Malfoy family was falling out of favor with Voldemort. Lucius didn’t even believe he really knew what the spell could do until Vincent saw it first-hand.

   “It’s the truth,” Narcissa reminded him. Without any pun intended, the truth burned.

   Lucius felt it sink in all over his skin, and felt like he was suffocating in his dark robes. He said what he always thought when Narcissa brought up the incident. “What if it had been our Draco?”

   “I cannot believe _you_ would even say that,” she hissed, looking up from her bubbling cauldron. “We protected Draco every step of the way, the best that we could. He would never turn on a friend like that, he would _never_. Those flames were meant to kill, and that was what they did.”

   “I’m not saying Draco is anything like him,” Lucius countered. “But what would have happened to us if anything had happened to Draco?”

   Narcissa couldn’t look him in the eye. “I wouldn’t be able to live. He’s safe now, that’s all that matters. He’s safe.”

   Putting down his quill, he tried to get his wife’s attention again. “I’m not trying to upset you,” Lucius said, attempting to be soft with her. “But we used to be a community. Our family will always come first, but we spent our holidays with them. Our sons grew up side-by-side. What would you do if you were in her place?”

   “I can’t afford to think like that,” Narcissa murmured. She stood up and abandoned her potioneering, too distraught to continue her work. Lucius’ grey eyes caught hers across the room. Even behind the expensive frames, she could practically read his mind through a single look. Years of marriage had refined their nonverbal communication without a doubt. They knew each other inside out. Narcissa could tell when Lucius was holding something from her by the twitch in his lips, and Lucius knew when Narcissa was upset by the curve of her back.

   After a long pause, Narcissa told the truth again. “I would go mad.” Lucius couldn’t help but agree. “But that’s not the way things are. Harry saved our Draco.” She considered adding an ‘in more ways than one’, but it would no doubt only solicit an annoyed groan from her husband. Even so, it felt like a role reversal of a conversation. Since when was Lucius the empathetic Malfoy?

   “Draco would have found his own way out,” Lucius said smugly. There it was again. That reliable old shell of self-preservation. Narcissa almost saw him shrink back into himself, back into his chair and back into his piles of checks.

   She walked behind his chair and leaned over him, giving the top of his head a kiss. He was right about Matilda having some very strong reasons for going rogue, but she could never even imagine herself in a world without her son. It was impossible for her to go to that place emotionally when she’d spent all of Draco’s life trying to avoid it. “Fine, then. Harry helped,” she tried. Reasoning with him was almost an art form, considering how much training one needed to do it.

   Lucius didn’t even look up from his work to address her. The side of Lucius that cared about their one-time friend and allowed himself to be grateful for the fact that his son was even alive was a transient side. “Your potion will boil over,” he reminded her.

   “I suppose it will,” Narcissa said quietly. She wished they could elaborate on the points brought up about their Draco. It seemed that just when Lucius was on the brink of something he backed up into his little corner and screwed his eyes shut like a child. All Narcissa wanted was a decent conversation.

   “Gerda will clean it up, then.” From the angle Narcissa was at, she could see the grey hairs in his white-blonde locks. His hairline was receding in spite of the vanity potions they both brewed. It felt strange to realize that they were getting older.

   It seemed that one never noticed aging until it crept up behind you in the mirror, or reflected how young you once were in a photograph. They were aging with the rest of the world, and nothing seemed like a constant. Even their son was growing up and getting married.

   Instead of a verbal response, Narcissa simply leaned down and kissed his head again. He could be such a stubborn fool, but he was her fool.

******

   The next day, after the tireless work of the Ministry researchers, they’d come to the conclusion that like the spell had existed before. It wasn’t an entirely helpful conclusion, but it was a start. The incantations and runes found within the circle were extremely rare and pricey, so it made sense that the Crabbe family would be able to bankroll it. Yet, if they sold the pattern, it could fall into the hands of any bidder.

   Kingsley Shacklebolt was afraid of just that. He was prepared to lock the design in a Ministry vault for reference, and try to extract the memories of those who saw it. The reasoning behind his fear came from the highly malicious intent of the spell.

   It was an ‘Alohamora’ on steroids. If the circle was drawn correctly and the incantation spoken precisely outside of a building, a hole would appear in the wall the size of that circle. It happened to be a rather big circle, too. A big circle with no care in the world for wards, protective spells, or locks. Kinglsey’s mind immediately went to the three most important buildings to keep sealed in the entire wizarding world. Gringotts, Azkaban, and the Ministry itself.

   Some things lurked under Ministry wraps that would not only endanger, but possibly devastate even the most powerful wizards and witches. He had increased security around all three, but even the most hardened Aurors were wary to go near the dementors of Azkaban. He’d assigned Harry and Ron to Gringotts, considering they were the only ones to ever successfully make a break in there.

   Harry had mumbled about the hours interfering with some wedding thing, but Kingsley had stressed how important the mission was. Eventually, he convinced Draco to change the appointment time.

   With an hour left until Draco’s flowery extravaganza and Harry only working at night, he found himself lazing around the Ministry atrium. He'd already browsed the nearby vendors, gotten a slightly stale cookie from the cafeteria, and read the Ministry’s mission statement three times over when he heard someone clearing their throat behind him.

   “Go home, Potter.”

   When Harry turned around, he could see his boss staring at him suspiciously. “I was leaving in about an hour,” he defended.

   “Then why are you still wearing your Auror robes?” Kingsley asked, raising an eyebrow.

   “I just happened to have them on. Black is very slimming, you know,” Harry said with a grin. In reality, he hated the damn things. He simply wasn’t as fashion-forward as Draco to know what exactly he hated about them.

   Kingsley directed a wary glance his way. “I can’t have you overworking yourself. You remember what happened on the dementor case.”

   What had happened was Harry almost falling asleep every other minute because he hadn’t left the office in a few days. He couldn’t stop working while dementors were out there attacking muggles at random, by command of some insane wizard. Draco had been furious with him for spending so much time at work, and demanded he take some sick days afterwards to get back to sleeping and ‘behaving like a functioning member of society’. “I slept at my own flat this morning,” Harry pointed out, hoping it would get Shacklebolt off of his back.

   “Even so. What are you doing hanging around here?”

   “I’m actually waiting for someone,” he said before realizing how sketchy that sounded. “Draco and I have wedding things to do.”

   “Good,” Kingsley approved. After starting his management of the Auror department, he quickly noticed that all of his employees were basket cases. In order to avoid overworking wizards and keeping them in fighting condition, he took an interest in their personal lives. The Kingsley Shacklebolt version of ‘taking an interest’ was ordering them out to bars and pushing them towards social normalcy. When he found out that Harry and Draco were dating, he’d done everything but kick Harry out of the office to get him out into the world beyond his Auror duties.

   “Well look who it is,” Draco boomed from down the busy hall. “The Head Auror himself.” He took long strides towards the two, clearing his own path through the rush of people. He’d tried to put the group hug –or what he referred to as The End of My Life—behind him, moving forward with his current schedule.

   Kingsley acknowledged him with a nod. He had been hoping to get rid of the Head Auror title for a while now, and the current Minister of Magic was of failing health… “Malfoy, get your betrothed out into the real world. He needs some fresh air.”

   Draco grinned and hooked his arm around Harry’s. “Will do. He’ll be out of your hair before you can say ‘Viola labradorica’.”

   “What?” Harry and Kingsley both asked at once. Draco rolled his eyes.

   “It’s the botanical name for purple violets, which we are going to be looking at a couple species of,” Draco clarified, giving Harry’s arm a tug.

   Feeling the same quiet dread of cake tasting and ring shopping, Harry held in a groan. “There’s more than one species of violet?” he asked with a slightly miserable tone.

   “Of course,” Draco laughed. “That, and we need accent flowers. We’ll be on our way now, Shacklebolt.”

   “By all means,” he responded, motioning towards the door. “Have a good shopping trip, and I’ll see you,” Kingsley said, pointing to Harry. “At eight o’ clock sharp.”

   Draco began to drag his fiancée towards the door, Harry too in love to tell him to turn around. “Don’t worry,” Draco said over his shoulder. “I’ll give him back to you in one piece.”


	22. Trying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ron tries to understand Harry's relationship, and Pansy tries to help an old friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the views, notes, favorites, reviews, and support of all kinds that this fic has gotten. I'm so glad you guys are on this fanfiction journey with me.

**Chapter 22: Trying**

   In the mornings, Draco was at his most forgiving. Every inch of Harry’s skin was his to hold as if he was the only thing keeping him from falling apart in his hands. It didn’t take him long to fully wake up and go about his day, but when he stayed there, soft and curling into him, it made Harry think of all sorts of cliché things. He thought of love as he nudged his lips into Draco’s neck, every bump in his spine made him think of family, and his pale eyelashes as they opened for the first time that day allowed him to consider soulmates.

   In the afternoons, Draco was so very strikingly alive. Harry could see it move from Draco’s toes to his fingertips. It was the spark that made him who he was. It allowed Draco to make a ridiculous comeback without even thinking too hard about it, and gave him the uncanny ability to find humor in tragedy. It reminded Harry of the last anniversary of the war, after he’d given his last somber speech at his last black-tie event. Draco had walked right up to him as he walked off the stage, and his hands immediately went to fix Harry’s collar. ‘I couldn’t stop fucking staring at that the whole time you were talking about ‘unity’ or whatever. It’s called Harry Potter Day for a reason, and you look homeless.’ It wasn’t really even funny, but Harry had laughed so hard that the whole room full of mourners stared. It had just been so very _Draco_ of him.

   In the late hours of night, Draco was a different beast entirely. He was all hips and lips and slow, uncoiling heat. When Draco got that possessive look in his eyes, Harry’s knees buckled. It wouldn’t matter what command he would give, Harry would follow. He trusted him implicitly. There were nights when Harry took control, but they paled in comparison to the way Draco spun the strings of ascendancy. His long, aristocratic fingers would cup his chin and Harry would be wildly grateful. Trying to show his thankfulness in kisses and moans, it all eventually devolved into one word that seemed to mean everything to him. “Draco, Draco, Draco.”

   He’d keep it to himself; store it away in the little vault where he liked to keep memories that made him feel warm all over. The kind of memories that helped him cast a patronus charm at the drop of a hat. Harry was knee deep in that vault when Ron jarred him out of it.

   “What’s got you mumbling?” Ron asked, peeking over Harry’s shoulder. Thus far, their patrol had been entirely uneventful. It was nearing the later hours of the night, and Harry was doing his best to keep from falling asleep. His best happened to be drafting his vows. Again.

   “Nothing is right,” he announced, his voice echoing in the gaping room. “I have all the words in my head, but they’re not coming out right.” He balled up the lined paper and tossed it into a nearby trash can. The goblins had left the bank, grumbling about how the Aurors needed to keep it clean if they were going to be lying about.

   So far, they were right about the ‘lying’ bit. Ron and Harry hadn’t even seen so much as a shadow move at their post. They were set right in the middle of the entrance hall. The researchers had guessed that since the Crabbe family frequented the bank to check up on their one-time legendary fortune, they wouldn’t know any of the back entrances. The other groupings of Aurors had been positioned around Ron and Harry to make sure they had backup if Matilda tried anything that night.

   To nobody’s surprise, she remained dormant. All of the public attention had to have been weighing on whatever their little revenge scheme was. Even The Quibbler had done an in-depth article.

   “What’ve you got so far?” Ron asked, realizing what his partner was talking about. He needed to keep talking to stay awake.

   Harry shook his head. “I have nothing.” His well was nearly out of ink and he didn’t like any of the versions of his vows. Not even any of the syntax or diction inspired him to make a new copy. Rubbing his temples, he leaned back onto a desk. “How did you ever manage writing these?”

   A slow smile spread across Ron’s face. “I sort of just looked at her. You know?” he sighed, getting that look in his eyes that Draco said made his stomach churn.

   “And you were able to write it all out?”

   At that, Ron faltered a little. “I did have some, erm, help.”

   “From who?” Harry begged a little too desperately. All he wanted was to get these vows right. The only part of the wedding he was interested in was when he pledged his undying, passionate, etc. love to Draco and became his husband. That, and the honeymoon. All of the nonsense in between was just to satisfy Draco’s Grand and Glorious Dream Wedding ideal.

   “It’s going to sound stupid,” Ron warned him.

   “We’re sitting in Gringotts at—“ Harry checked his muggle watch. “Twelve thirty-eight because Matilda bloody _Crabbe_ has decided she is going to seek revenge years after the war, and I am trying to write my wedding vows to Draco Malfoy. This whole thing _sounds_ stupid, mate. We’re the only ones who know it’s secretly not.”

   Giving him a cheeky smile, Ron couldn’t help but agree. “It was Remus. I wanted to, you know, make sure it was… Written correctly, with all that grammatical stuff. All the ‘t’s crossed and the ‘i’s dotted. Hermione likes that kind of stuff,” he admitted. “Remus helped me with the technical parts, though. The rest was me. I emptied about three cans worth of coffee grinds, but I finally got it done.”

   Harry nodded. If Ron—with his occasional emotional range of a teaspoon—could translate what he felt for Hermione into words, maybe Harry wasn’t entirely helpless. Even so, it seemed like he would definitely be paying Remus and Sirius another visit.

   “You’ll get it,” Ron said confidently. He was actually looking forward to seeing what Draco had to say about his best mate. In the spirit of attempting peace, Ron was starting to wish he knew what exactly it was that they shared. He felt a tinge of guilt for having subjected Harry to his and Hermione’s ups and downs since the start and not even bothering to figure out Harry’s own situation. Whenever Draco and Harry fought, Ron defaulted to telling Harry that it wouldn’t work out. Harry quickly got into the habit of keeping their fights a secret. “How do you, erm, feel about him?” he tried.

   “You know how,” Harry snorted. “The whole bloody wizarding world knows how.” There they were, two normal blokes trying to talk about their _feelings_.

   “Yeah, but really. I mean, we’ve never actually…” Ron tried to say what was on his mind without actually saying it. When Harry looked at him like he had grown a second head, Ron gave in. “We’ve never actually talked about it. You and Draco.” It still felt strange to say his first name.

   “Oh,” he replied, caught off guard.

   Ron had never shown any interest in what Harry’s romantic life was once Draco came into the picture. It had been a strange shift from Ron pushing him to go out with every bloke that so much as looked at Harry to clamming up entirely when Harry finally chose one of those blokes. The whole thing made him feel nervous to finally get it all out in the open.

   Harry cleared his throat. “I don’t even really know where to start. I know it all technically started in school, and after that in the hospital, but still. Draco’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. He’s smart, he’s ambitious, he’s funny, he’s… Surprisingly brave. The way he handled all of that public outcry for years, it’s inspirational. I can barely keep a grip on things when the paparazzi are declaring their love for me. Draco has been through so much, but he’s grown so much.”

   “I can tell,” Ron said quietly. Draco still turned his nose up at muggle businesses and became squeamish around any animal larger than a cat, but the change was obvious.

   After the way Voldemort had held his parent’s lives over his head, Draco had promised himself never to live under someone else’s control again. “That, and I never knew how caring he could be. Draco’s got such a huge capacity for caring. It’s not obvious,” he assured him. “But it’s still there. He’ll go out of his way for his friends, and he’s gone out of his way for me. Draco would never admit it, though. He likes to think he’s more of an arse than he actually is.”

   “He is kind of an arse,” Ron said with a smile.

   Harry shrugged. “He’s honest about it, at least. It’s funny when he’s on your side.” Draco was always a good ally in an argument. Winning was a goal he would always ruthlessly chase after.

   “And he _is_ on your side, if you know what I mean,” he said in a suggestive way that suggested he knew absolutely nothing about gay sex.

   “ _Ron_.”

   “What?”

   “That’s not even… Never mind,” Harry sighed before breaking out into laughter.

   Ron looked at him crossly. “What? I can put you through years of sexual tension but we can’t discuss what you do in the privacy of your own flat? Or maybe even in public? See, I should know these kinds of things.”

   He couldn’t help but laugh again. “Do you _really_ want all the gory details?”

   “Sure,” Ron said a little uneasily. “I mean, you’ve gotten all of Hermione and mine. In spite of the slight emotional scarring and that time you walked in on us during New Year’s eve, you seem fine.”

   “The evidence of your copulation is now growing in Hermione,” he reminded him. “Quite literally living proof. Also, never mention New Year’s eve again.” The damage from that still wasn’t entirely healed. Two people he considered to be his siblings should _not_ have let themselves be found in such a compromising position. Harry had no idea Hermione even wore thongs.

   His best mate’s aversion only made it more fun of a topic to bring up. “You know what they say, what you do on that night predicts how your whole year will be,” he teased. “But that could be a good name. Hermione has been thinking Rose or Violet for a girl, and some weird French names for boys. I think ‘Living Proof of Sexual Relations’ is a pretty great one, though.” Ron tipped his head back and grinned at the idea.

   Harry gave him a playful kick in the shin. “You’re already thinking of names? That’s so exciting,” he said happily. After at least fifteen congratulations that night, Ron was not prepared for another one.

   “Yes, yes. But what I am trying to do here is get you to talk about your weird, Slytherin sex life,” Ron redirected.

   “It’s very weird,” Harry warned him.

   That got Ron’s attention. “What, Draco like to be tied down sex dungeon-style and hit or something?”

   “Er.”

   “Come on, Harry.”

   “It’s just, you know, sort of the other way around,” Harry said quietly, hoping Ron wouldn’t be able to hear it. His blush may have made it a little more obvious.

   Ron did a double take. “ _Oh_.”

   “Yes, well, anyway. It was a lovely day today. We picked out floral arrangements,” he said, almost desperate for a subject change.

   “Oh, come on, Harry.” Ron was surprised he didn’t know this kind of stuff about the man he’d been so close to since they were eleven. It took Harry a while to tell him he was gay, and it seemed to take even longer to get details.

   “Did you know there are more than one species of violet?” Harry asked, ignoring him. He never considered himself a prude, but he had never really shared that part of his life with anyone but then men he slept with. It felt like a safe place to share with them. Ron couldn’t even squeeze out details when Harry was with someone else. “There are over thirty. We looked at thirty species of violets, Ron.”

   That didn’t surprise Ron at all. “Right, so is he a perfectionist in bed, too?”

   “I am going to pretend you didn’t ask that,” Harry informed him.

   “Fine, fine,” Ron gave in. “But don’t think I'm not gathering all this up for your bachelor party.”

   Harry’s eyes looked at him in horror. “No. No way. I don’t want anything wild. I’ll be getting married the day after; I don’t need any reason to feel guilty.”

   “I'm not going to make you cheat on him! I didn’t cheat on Hermione when I had mine. It’s supposed to be fun, and Draco will be having one too, you know. With Parkinson and Nott and everything. But it’s your last chance to do something wild,” Ron emphasized. “If you think I am not dragging you to a room with wall-to-wall naked blokes and some busty waitresses for the rest of the guys, then you are wrong.”

   “We are not going to have a repeat of what happened at your bachelor party,” he concluded.

   “I was being _considerate_ ,” Ron sighed. “I didn’t want to drag you to some joint full of half-naked women and not include at least one guy for you.”

   He remembered it all too vividly. Telling Draco he’d be back in the morning, going to the club expecting to dance a little and drink, and then when Ron was being treated to the groom-to-be special, some obscenely tan man making his way towards him. “It’s the thought that counts, and I can see you’ve thought about it. That’s all I need.”

   “What did you have in mind?” Ron asked, hoping there would at least be some venereal shenanigans involved.

   “I don’t know,” he shrugged. “Some drinks, a good time. Hanging out with you guys while you tease me mercilessly and then getting married in the morning.”

   Ron wasn’t changing his plans in the slightest. “Sure,” he said with a smug grin. “It’ll be something like that.” Harry gave him a wavering look, but it seemed to have no effect. “So, until then, I suppose. This has strayed pretty far from the point.”

   “What exactly was the point of this?”

   “Feelings.”

   “Right,” Harry remembered. “Two defenders of wizarding society talking about emotions.”

   “It’s much manlier than that,” Ron said before allowing himself to laugh.

   Harry couldn’t help but laugh with him. The safety of Gringotts was in their sentimental hands. “Okay, then. What exactly do you want to know?”

   “Why you’re marrying him,” Ron answered a little too readily, looking to Harry for the answer. It had been a question he’d needed an answer to ever since Harry started talking about proposing to the ferret now referred to as Draco Malfoy.

   It took a second for Harry to gather his thoughts. “I never want to be without him. I want to be with him for the rest of my life. I know I can do that without marriage, but I want to do this right. Like my parents did. I want to marry Draco not only for the fact that he’s the one for me, but there are all sorts of legal benefits. The kind of legal benefits that Sirius and Remus’ generation fought for. Hospital visitation, tax cuts, property rights, insurance rights, and familial rights. I'm marrying Draco because I feel like he already is my family, and I want the law to recognize that.”

   Ron had never even thought about that. It had been easy for Hermione and him to marry and overlook all of those clauses in the contract. They’d simply been raised knowing that they’d always be able to be married in any country, and in any ceremony they liked.

   “Sometimes,” Harry continued. “When I hear something hilarious, or see something that I know would make him laugh, I wish he was there. He’s always got something to say that comes almost entirely out of left field. Especially when I make a stupid muggle references like that. I love to make him laugh.” Harry’s favorite sound was Draco laughing so hard he could barely even control it.

   “You love him,” he agreed, now really seeing it.

   “I love him.”

   Ron nodded. “Then you’ll get it. Maybe not tonight, but you’ll get it,” he said confidently.

   Looking down at his pile of discarded paper by the trash, Harry hoped that was true.

******

   Pansy had once again summoned her council of men to her frilly pink room. This time, it was actually urgent. “We have a situation,” she declared, placing his pear martini down on her night stand.

   “That medi-witch you’re snogging?” Theo asked, leaning forward.

   “The third year that our dearest Theodore is snogging?” Blaise offered.

   “He is _one fucking year_ younger than us,” Theo protested.

   “Still,” Greg laughed. “He’s like, _the_ innocent kid.”

   Theo rolled his eyes. “You’re dating a Hufflepuff, and Draco is marrying the Saviour of the Wizarding World. I don’t think this is up there on the ‘shocking people’ list.”

   “Where is Draco?” Blaise wondered out loud. If he was going to be trapped in another Pansy Crisis, then he would at least want to share sarcastic glances with someone.

   “At work,” Greg shrugged. Draco had given his feigned regrets to Pansy on her way out, preferring to bury himself in his Healing than face one of her boozefests. Alas, the other men in Pansy’s life really had nothing better to do. Colin was at a photo-shoot, Hannah was interning with some professor, and Blaise was simply bored.

   Pansy had heard quite enough of their snipping. “ _Gentlemen_.” They turned to her skeptically. “This is _actually_ a situation. I'm not talking about our love lives or the fact that Theo is dating a four year-old—“

   “He’s twenty five!” Theo argued, getting tired of his friends’ playful jabs.

   “Sure,” Pansy grinned before becoming serious again. “I'm talking about Vince’s mum.”

   That sure got everyone’s attention. “She’s just a suspect,” Greg cut in protectively. “All they have is an eye-witness report, and those aren’t always right.”

   “It was _Harry’s_ eye-witness report,” Theo muttered. “Draco was the one that sent him to Lucius and Narcissa’s.” He wouldn’t stand for anyone blaming the two of them for something Matilda did. Coming to Draco’s defense was a long-standing habit of Theo’s, mostly because Draco was always doing things that needed some explanation.

   “That’s not the point,” Pansy insisted. “The situation is what the hell we do about it.”

   “What _can_ we do?” Blaise questioned, not sure if the state of affairs were entirely in their power. “It’s not like we can owl her. ‘Hey there, Mrs. Crabbe! How’s life? How are the break-ins going?’”

   Pansy shook her head. “Obviously not. I'm not talking about what we can do for Matilda, I'm talking about what we can do to keep this quiet. Vince wouldn’t have wanted his mum to go through the ringers of public press. You all know what that’s like.”

   “I still don’t see where we come in,” Blaise argued. He’d been broken up for too long after Vincent’s death, and he didn’t see the need in carrying on the pain that all of them had borne.

   “We come in by helping the Aurors as much as we can,” she ordered them. “I know I'm not the most moral, or the most ethical person out there—“

   “Or the most compassionate,” Theo offered.

   “Or the most sincere,” Blaise agreed.

   “Or the most—“ Greg tried before being cut off by a smack to the ear.

   “This is not about my personality!” she snapped. “And I have been compassionate before. You’re all just a bunch of arseholes.”

   Theo raised a finger. “We never said we weren’t.”

   “Whatever,” Pansy sighed. “But we have to protect our own. That’s what we do. So I have a plan.”

   A collective groan swept through the bedazzled room.

   “I cannot believe you all right now!” she said, her voice climbing in volume. “Vincent is—was our friend! Hell, what am I saying, he always will be.”

   “We can’t to do anything for Vince now,” Greg objected, shaking his head. At the time, he’d been too afraid to understand what was happening, too afraid to see what the person he considered his best friend was doing. Draco wasn’t about to bring Harry in to his death, and Vince wanted it more than anything. He wanted it all to be over. It left him more conflicted than he could properly articulate. Words were never his strong suit. “He’s gone.”

   Blaise was caught off guard by his solemnity. “I… I don’t know,” he said honestly. “Even if it wouldn’t really help him, I think it would honor his memory.” He left out the quintessential ‘and us’. After all the death and destruction of the war, he had discovered grief wasn’t for those who lost their lives. It was for the ones left behind.

   “ _Thank_ you,” Pansy said, finally glad someone was on her side.

   “What’s your plan?” Theo asked, not even close to on-board with whatever the hell Pansy had cooked up. He’d stayed away from her schemes in school and had no intention of following any of them now without good reason.

   Very glad he was at least mildly interested, Pansy cleared her throat. “We retrace our steps. I know we all have jobs now,” she pointed to herself proudly. “But when we have time off, we go to every hotel. We visit every beach and resort that we went to as kids. Matilda’s a pureblood; her habits are most likely so cemented that this is the first time she’s broken out of them. If we can deliver her to the Ministry calmly, then the press attention won’t be as grand as Harry Potter taking her in bound in fucking handcuffs or something.”

   “I don’t know about you lot, but I am not in the fucking mood to relive my childhood,” Theo responded sardonically.

   “You don’t have to relive it,” Pansy complained. “The goal is to find Matilda, not cause a psychological breakdown.” Because none of them had totally ever had those. Ever. “We’ll go in groups of two to make sure we’re safe. After all, Matilda _killed_ someone.”

   “They don’t know it was her,” Greg said. “Could’ve been the other guy.”

   “Once again, this is flying right over your heads,” she said. “It doesn’t matter who killed who, it matters that she’s locked up somewhere. I'm not the biggest fan of muggleborns—“

   “Or muggles,” Theo reminded her.

   “Or magical creatures,” Blaise added.

   “Or—“

   “Enough! I'm just telling you guys that while muggleborns and all of that political shit isn’t my motive here, it would help!” Pansy shouted. “We’re doing this our way. The Slytherin way, like it’s always been. Is that understood?”

   The three men grumbled their agreements in spite of their separate doubts. It all felt rather ironic, a bunch of ex-Death Eaters and supremacists playing Auror like they were ickle firsties all over again.

   “Good,” she said, regaining her leadership confidence. “Then we’ll start tomorrow. Dress sharply, but discreetly. We’re going to start at the very beginning.”

   “No, not the old neighborhood,” Theo shook his head. “The only place left there is Malfoy Manor, and I don’t think Lucius is hiding a hoard of trespassers in his basement. He hates the Ministry, and he wouldn’t want them snooping around his heirlooms any more than they already have.”

   “Then Blaise and I will go,” she sighed. “Like I said, pairs. You and Greg can go to the Crabbe’s summer home in the Virgin Islands. The one they didn’t put down on paper.”

   “Okay, so what if we find her? Then what?” Greg mumbled, not willing to get killed over a couple of museum entries.

   Pansy’s plan had only roughly gone over that. After another sip of her pear martini, she had a solution. “We paralyze her, like Aurors. Then we alert each other and floo to the Ministry. We can contact Harry somehow, and then we’re done. It’s all done.”

   “Whoop-de-fucking-doo,” Theo muttered so that only he could hear it, sitting back in a pink lip-shaped chair to down the martini that Pansy had made him. He wasn’t looking forward to their bizarre vigilante investigation, but he wouldn’t rat out the maniacs he called his friends. Even if this was one of their more unrealistic ventures, it was strangely hopeful. Almost good-hearted. Theo had to hand it to them, they were misguided and admittedly crazy, but they were trying.


	23. Tradition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tradition is a Slytherin quality, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, holy shit. 20,000 views on fanfiction, 1,500 on AO3. This is such a great audience to write for; I love all of your support. I'm in the school play so my schedule is getting even more hectic. Either way, thank you! Also, bless the Pottermore article on the Malfoy family. It helped so much.

**Chapter 23: Tradition**

Eleven years prior to June twenty-fourth, 2006, Abraxas Malfoy had drawn in his final breath. Draco had been too busy tossing and turning in his bed upstairs about the upcoming war (or possibly wanking, it all depended on what kind of mood he was in) to notice his grandfather’s passing, but Lucius had been wide awake.

   There had never exactly been a history of loving father-to-son bonds in the Malfoy family. All the way back to Armand Malfoy, who had built the Manor with his son, had never gotten along with him. It explained the erratic staircases of the third floor and the disorganized basements and attics that Narcissa had redone.

   Even with that in mind, Lucius had been especially miserable that day. Having been holed up in hiding for so long had made him cabin crazy, and the death of the man he had modeled his life after. It all seemed rather inappropriate at the time, a sunny day marking the end of Abraxas’ life. For one, even the weather seemed to be working against Lucius. On top of that, Abraxas had never exactly possessed a sunny disposition. The only reason he had purchased summer homes was to brag about them.

   And brag about them he did. To everyone who would listen—which happened to include the wizarding elite—Abraxas seemed like the luckiest wizard alive. After his faithful and dutiful wife of nine months exactly bore him a son, it seemed that the stars truly were smiling upon him. But unlike most of his ancestors before him, his son would not be named after a star. The name and legacy he would imprint on a creature that had just learned how to breathe would derive from the Latin word ‘lucinus’, which roughly translated to ‘shine or glimmer’ to describe what a bright future he envisioned for the Aryan babe.

   That luck ran out when he caught a terrible case of dragon pox in his seventy-first year of life. The Malfoy family had employed their most expensive Healers, but it seemed Abraxas was losing the battle. His final request was to be moved to a sectioned-off room in his Manor, so that he could die in peace while his family remained uninfected. It was rather selfless for a man who had dedicated most of his life to forcing muggleborn wizards out of Ministry positions.

   The unexpected consequence of this was Lucius getting his father’s last words to him in a disinfected letter from a Healer. They were brief and austere; not even death could bring out the sympathy in him. It was so cookie-cutter and predictable that Lucius had burned it right after he read it. Three sentences. Abraxas had a whole paper to fill with knowledge, wisdom, and pride for his only son, and he wrote three sentences.

   It shouldn’t have been too shocking to Lucius, who had lived under his rule and his cane for the first eighteen years of his life and he knew better than anyone that Abraxas was not a sentimental man. But that seemed like a lifetime ago. The bruises had faded and Lucius simply assumed his emotions on the subject would fade with them.

   “Lucius,” Narcissa said softly, breaking his trance. Her dark, laced gown had been worn in respect to her husband’s loss and pooled around her feet like black coffee. “I think Draco is here.”

   Sure enough, Gerda had answered the knock at the door post-haste. When she realized it was her young master, she bowed so quickly her nose banged into the floor. Draco had tried his best not to laugh. “Come this way, Master Draco,” she said, rubbing the bump that had begun to form.

   Draco followed, his dark robes trailing behind him. His past Saturday night had hardly been a riveting experience, and this one seemed to be just as promising. Abraxas had never extended their relationship passed the occasional pat on the head and Christmas card exchange, and he was grateful for it. “Hello, mother. Father.” He entered the living-room (which in itself held quite a bit of irony) and immediately felt the tension. If this was anything like other death anniversaries his father was intent on honoring every year, Draco was going to be tearing his hair out by the end of the night.

   “Draco,” his mother said warmly, rising up to meet him with a hug. “How are you?”

   “Just dandy,” he replied sarcastically. “Who doesn’t love a good old family dinner over the passing of an ancestor? Also, do I have to go into the crypts this year?”

   Lucius’ glare cut through him. “Show some respect,” he ordered from his cushy chair. “And yes, it’s tradition.”

   Draco was the kind of man who whispered about tradition behind its back. Then again, marriage was pretty traditional. Maybe that was why it was giving him so much anxiety. “Fine,” Draco resigned, sitting on one of the couches. He had been looking forward to going home for a little something from Harry, and it seemed like that would have to wait. “Then let’s get it over with, hm?”

   Narcissa’s kind hand was placed on her husband’s shoulder, so she moved it to take his hand to help him stand. Abraxas and Lucius needed their canes for very different reasons, and Lucius’ happened to be in mobility. Even though he had carried on the line of father-and-son tiffs, he would never raise a hand to hurt the only Draco he would ever have. “Just for that,” Lucius said with a bitter smirk that somehow managed not to hold very much malice at all. “You get to carry the torch.”

   Returning an eerily similar facial expression, Draco stood up again to follow them down the dark Manor halls. “I don’t see why we need to use a torch. A simple ‘Lumos’ would be sufficient.” Before Lucius could even cut his son off again, Draco answered for him. “Right, _tradition_.”

   The three would have looked very strange to an outsider, walking down their elegant mansion walls decked in black and all unhappy for their own various reasons. A hand slipped into Draco’s, and he looked up to see it was his mother’s.

   “I can find the place on my own, you know,” Draco grinned. In any other situation, his mother’s tendency to hold his hand like a child would have made his face turn Gryffindor red.

   “I know that, Draco.” Narcissa shook her head, the decorative black veil hairpiece moving with her greying hair. “I simply wanted to ask how things were going with the wedding. I can hardly wait.”

   Draco shrugged, not wanting to unearth all of his reservations with Lucius walking briskly in front of them. “It’s going well. We’re looking for someone to play music for the ceremony and for the reception right now,” Draco rambled on, hoping inane facts about the big day would satisfy her.

   Resisting the urge to kiss his forehead, Narcissa walked on. When they reached the back door of the Manor, the night heat swirled in around them. There was something about summer air that was distinctly different than any other season. It was pungent and strong, like the season was embracing you right then and there under the stars. “What a beautiful night,” Narcissa breathed, giving Draco’s hand a small squeeze.

   The three made their way to the stone building, passing peacocks left and right. Their Wiltshire lands were constantly populated with the white beasts, who frequently tried to peck the soles off of Draco’s shoes. Even so, they were his father’s patronus, so he had bought them in flocks. Draco didn’t exactly have a bunch of dragons and stags running around his flat, but he supposed that wasn’t the biggest difference from the Manor and his home.

   In the back of the property, as if it was an afterthought that any Malfoy would ever be less than immortal, the crypt loomed. The grey stone jutted up out of the ground to form an entrance large enough for about two people standing side-by-side. Lucius reached for the torch that rested on the wall and dug his wand out of his pocket. “Incendio.”

   Almost immediately, the cloth around the wood caught fire. The emerald flames danced around and mingled with that heavy night air while the crickets chirped all around them. Draco felt like he should be attending a beach party rather than some archaic pureblood ritual. But in his father’s words: ‘Rituals are what bind a family together’.

   The maw of the crypt seemed to yawn wider for them, and Draco let out a little shudder before walking into the darkness. It moved around him like silk, enveloping him and then his parents. The torch gave them just enough light to see a foot ahead, but Draco knew what to do.

   He had done this with his father and his grandfather alike, lighting the torches in the hall. They were all connected by a fine, flammable powder that breathed life back into the dead stone walls. In true Malfoy fashion, they glowed green as well.

   Narcissa felt like she was walking into the belly of a snake as they made their way down the stairs, their footsteps echoing off of the ancient walls. The crypts weren’t hers by birth, but by marriage. It disturbed her nonetheless that her final descent would be down these stairs, and it gave her a quiet reverence for human life. A spider skittered across the wall and Narcissa scrunched her nose up again. Bug life was another story entirely.

   When they reached the bottom of the winding steps, Draco took a deep breath. He regretted it the second he did; the musty air felt like dust gathering in his lungs. Coughing into his sleeve, he moved forward into the crypt.

   “You may start,” Lucius said from behind him, noticeably humbled by the place of his ancestors.

   Draco nodded and hoped he remembered his lessons. The sealed final resting places of the Malfoys before him were divided like shelves. Each Malfoy man and his wife got a section of the wall, their portrait likenesses hung next to them. They weren’t moving portraits, like most of the ones in the Manor, which Draco found even more disturbing. “Year 1066 AD, Armand Malfoy and his wife Diane,” he said out loud, dipping the torch down into the pit of powder in front of the first pair of shelves. “Builders of Malfoy Manor, provided service for William the first of England.” Within the stone caskets, he knew there were bones hundreds of years old. Mortality was never fun to face.

   Moving down the line of Malfoy men before him, the patriarchy was disturbingly palpable. Women born to the Malfoy family were buried in their husband’s crypts, just as the wives of the Malfoy family were beneath their old manse. It made Draco irrationally worried about where Harry and he would be.

   “Year 1340 AD, Nicolas Malfoy and his wife Margaret. Founders of the Society Against Muggle Advancement, also known as SAMA, which was a response to witch hunts of the Black Death.” He muttered the last part a little too bitterly for Lucius’ taste, but he let it slide. Draco lit that fire-pit as well, looking to his left to see the trail of green flames he was leaving behind them.

   After a few more increasingly supremacist ancestors, Draco came upon his father’s namesake. “Year 1500 AD, Lucius Malfoy the first and his wife Agnes,” he moved on, before breaking out of his monotone voice. “Didn’t he try to shag Queen Elizabeth?”

   “ _Draco_ ,” Lucius groaned, running a hand through his long, whitening hair. “We are supposed to deny that, remember?”

   The youngest Malfoy shrugged. “I don’t see the point. It’s not like he’s going to come haunt us for gossiping about him.”

   “ _Respect_ ,” his father repeated. “Now his achievements.”

   “Actually,” Draco pointed out. “Agnes achieved a hell of a lot more than him—“

   Narcissa’s calming hand came down on his shoulder. “Draco, dear, it’s best that we continue.” She was starting to want to get the hell out of there as much as her son.

   Draco sighed and went on. “Contributed the Malfoy judicial wing to the Ministry, and became a beneficiary of the arts.”

   Leaving out the fact that his wife did most of that, he did what he needed to do to earn his exit and his dinner alike. Draco could only dream of what Gerda was cooking, because when he breathed in he felt on the edge of sneezing all over his esteemed and very racist forefathers.

   “Year 1675 AD, Brutus Malfoy and his wife Katherine. Authors of several tomes of spells, and original authors of the periodical ‘Warlock at War’.” Draco left out the part where Warlock at War was the singular most anti-muggle and anti-muggleborn paper ever written, considering it was self-evident with the Malfoy name plastered all over it.

   Brutus was most frequently mentioned in the history textbooks that Draco and Harry had read back in school as a strong oppose of human rights all around. Draco smiled smugly to himself that the current heir to all of his successes was a flaming queer. Lighting the fire in front of him, he started to feel a little warm under the collar. The first green flames he had put in the stone hall were still burning strong.

   In spite of the heat, he soldiered on. “Year 1736 AD, Septimus Malfoy and his wife Alice. Advisor to Minister of Magic Unctuous Osbert and political reformer.” The next set of green flames felt a little oppressive in the tight space.

   The one-sentence summaries were what really got their attention as a family. Lucius was always thinking of what his could say; what his descendants would look back on him for. If Draco even decided to have any blood descendants. The crypt wound on for a very long time, and it could be extended by any Malfoy who needed more space.

   Finally, after what seemed like an eternity below the earth and the many sons of the 1800’s, Draco came upon his grandfather. “Year 1995 AD, Abraxas Malfoy and his wife Joanne. Master Potioneer and political mind, also having contributed greatly to education by funding the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,” Draco finished, lighting the fire in front of him.

   For a moment, the world stood still in the Malfoy crypts. Narcissa looked to her husband, knowing how he held in his emotions. As usual, Lucius’ face did not betray him. It stayed calm and focused in the face of his parents.

   The only thing on Draco’s mind, however, was the empty plot next to Abraxas and his poor, battered wife. If he and Harry were ever to have children, this is where they would have to see their grandparents. Lucius would have a hissy fit if Draco told him he never planned to be buried under feet of dirt, ash, and stone.

   “Can we go now?” Draco asked, getting rather uncomfortable with the not-so-companionable silence. It was as quiet as death down there aside from the crackling of fires.

   Lucius let out what sounded like an exhausted sigh. “Yes, we can go now.”

   The three turned around and made their way back towards the mouth of the crypt, and the fires went out behind them one by one.

******

   “Remind me to become mysteriously ill next time this year,” Draco groaned, leaning back into Harry’s naked form that was seated upright against the headboard. They had gone from shagging to pillow talk in almost break-neck speed.

   Harry pressed his lips to Draco’s shoulder, a laugh bubbling up inside him. “That’d be rather cruel, considering how Abraxas went.”

   Even Draco couldn’t help but laugh with him. “You’re awful,” he said with a smile. “Oh, Salazar. Have I ever told you about the two consecutive Christmases that he tried to set me up with Millicent Bulstrode?”

   “No way.”

   “It was a nightmare!” Draco recalled. “He conjured mistletoe above us, Harry. _Mistletoe_.” Memories of a plump fifth-year Bulstrode pushing her lips out for him would haunt him until his dying day.

   “What did you do?” he asked, amused by the whole story. Never would he stop insisting Draco wrote a novel about all of his strange and twisted pureblood childhood. It’d have all the workings of a perfect book. The adventure of having indentured creatures tend to your every whim, the romance of being pushed together with every available pureblood of the opposite gender, and the comedy of years upon years of emotional manipulation.

   Draco shook his head. “I ran for the back door so quickly I think Millie spun around on her heels.”

   “That’s very you,” Harry told him. “Always running straight for the back door.”

    Harry’s twisted sense of humor was dangerously contagious. “I’ve never heard any complaints from you,” Draco teased. “Not even when I'm too big to get it in.”

   “Oh Merlin. That was _one time,_ Draco! Almost a year ago,” Harry reminded him, giving him a little shove. He kept his arms wrapped around his fiancée nonetheless. Their conversations tended to dance around a chain of memories and common events, along with a dark sense of what was funny. “It had more to do with Hermione’s attempt at casserole than you, if you don’t recall.”

   “Poor Ronald,” he sighed, not really meaning it at all. Sentiment was a little beyond his mental capacity after a visit to the crypts. “Subject to her cooking far more than we will ever be, along with their offspring.”

   A lazy thumb made circles on the back of Draco’s soft hands. “Hermione will be a good mum, I think. Ron can do the cooking,” he mumbled into the expanse of alabaster skin in front of him.

   Draco looked over his shoulder at him, trying to convey his skepticism properly. “Yeah, if the kid wants chicken and waffles for every meal.”

   “He can make other things; you just don’t go there often enough.”

   “Forgive me for not wanting to visit the new Burrow,” Draco snarked. Before long he imagined the two would have a whole new brood of hatchlings, carrying on that ginger hair for generations. It was almost a fool-proof plan. To have lots and lots of children, ensuring that at least one of them was sane enough to collect their inheritance. Draco’s parents, unfortunately, were a little too inbred to be fertile.

   Rolling his eyes, Harry gave him a little nip. “What’s so wrong with the Burrow?”

   “Is that not obvious? It’s a madhouse, Harry. A madhouse with far too many staircases and screaming children along with grandchildren,” Draco complained. “They have more gingers than they know what to do with.”

   “That’s not necessarily a terrible thing.”

   At that, Draco shifted around to look him in the eye. He gently pressed the back of his hand to Harry’s forehead, biting his lower lip in concentration. “Well, you’re warm, but I'm not sure if it’s a fever…”

   “I don’t have a fever,” he grumbled, taking Draco’s hand off of his head and holding it. “I just think children aren’t the end of the world, or even really that awful to have around. Especially when they’re grown up.”

   Draco’s face was not as heavily trained as his father’s, and it showed in every line of fear and shock on his forehead. “Let’s not start this,” he said quickly, trying to turn back around.

   Harry stopped him. “I'm not starting anything, I'm just thinking out loud. The Weasleys weren’t kids forever, and nobody else gets to be. Plus, when they’re eleven they’ll go off to Hogwarts—“

   “Harry, stop.” Draco broke free of his embrace, feeling the absence of warmth almost immediately.

   “I don’t see why we can’t _talk_ about it.”

   Trying to keep it together, Draco shook his head. “Not tonight, okay? My parents expect me to have kids so that they can continue on the Malfoy bloodline, the press expects me to have kids so they can stalk them, and I really don’t need you on their side.”

   “I'm not on anybody’s side,” Harry said, for a moment wishing he knew how Draco came to such ridiculous conclusions. “If anything, I'm on yours.”

   “Then, please—just not tonight. The Malfoy crypts go on and on for what feels like an eternity and I am supposed to fill them. I'm the only one left.” The words spilled from his mouth like water. “I'm the only one with Black and Malfoy blood left. And if we ever had kids, I would want to adopt! On top of that, we still need to book the wedding music, and create the menu, and—“

   “Draco,” he said quietly, reaching out to take his hand again. Draco looked down at it suspiciously, as if suspecting there were strings attached. After a moment he decided it was safe enough to touch. “It’s not all happening at once. We have until August for the wedding, and the rest of our lives for kids. I'm only trying to keep some kind of discussion open about it.”

   “You sound like a therapist.” Not that Draco had ever, ever tried to see one of those. Malfoys didn’t do therapy.

   Harry gave him a little smile. “I love you, you know.”

   It was right on the edge of being mushy, and like some scene you would read in one of those terrible romantic novels. Draco simply couldn’t have that. “Nobody ever accused you of that not being true. Well, at least not this week. Do you think the wedding will need security to keep out your rabid fans? So long as we keep the location discreet, we may not need to hire bouncers. I’ve always wanted that, though. My own private squad of protectors.” That was what Greg and Vince had been.

   “With all of your planning, it will be perfect,” he assured him, knowing how much effort he’d been putting into the nuptials.

   “If The Prophet shows up, I cannot be held responsible for my actions.”

   “As a licensed Auror,” Harry smirked. “I believe any of your spells would be in self-defense.”

   Draco smiled, leaning back into him. Once again he felt glad for the fact that they were able to jump from topic to topic so quickly. It kept conversation interesting, and it’d have to stay interesting. After all, forever together is a very long time. “It’s nice to have the law coming to my defense for once.”

   After a quick peck on the lips, Draco settled into bed. With one wave of his wand the lights died out and he blinked to adjust to the dark. Once he could sort of make out the details on Harry’s face, he moved under the covers.

   “I am the husband-to-be of a very important Auror,” Draco mused. “I could probably get away with all sorts of things. Once you’re Head Auror, it’ll all be perfect.”

   Harry joined him beneath the sheets and insistently put an arm around him. It was the least he could do to keep him close. “That may be a long time coming.”

   “Nonsense. You’re brilliant at your job.” Draco never settled for second best, after all.

   “Yes, that must be why I can’t find a senior citizen and her partner,” Harry sighed.

   It seemed like Harry was bringing up all of the wrong subjects that night. Things were much easier when they were shagging and their lips were too busy to speak. Draco’s silence was obvious enough for his fiancée to interpret, considering his practically legendary foul moods.

   He nudged up against Draco. “Sorry,” Harry murmured, having lost track of the amount of things he had to walk on eggshells about around his lover.

   “I'm just tired,” Draco lied, swallowing down what felt like some sort of emotion in his throat. Pesky things, those emotions. Always messing up the best laid plans.

   Harry nuzzled into him, hoping his body language inspired some sort of forgiveness. “Goodnight, then,” he said below his breath. Maybe the morning would bring with it some sort of insight on what was going on Draco’s head. It was a place Harry sometimes felt very locked out of.

   “Night,” murmured Draco, digging his nails into his pillow. Slowly, he unnamed emotion passed and left him feeling rattled and strung out. He released his death grip on the pillow. Harry’s breathing evened out next to him and Draco screwed his eyes shut. It felt cliché to think he saw the green-lit walls of the crypt glowing around him, so he convinced himself it was the Slytherin halls he was thinking of. Back in school, where the traits of ambition, leadership, cunning, and tradition hadn’t sounded like such burdens.


	24. Draco Dormiens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus. Never tickle a sleeping dragon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Lauren, because she wanted parselsmut. Also, I really like the idea of Harry being able to speak parseltongue even after Voldemort is killed. Thanks again for your support!

**Chapter 24: Draco Dormiens**

   The sun beat down on Charlie Weasley’s messily robed back. His bright, red hair was pulled back into a short tie and to keep it from flopping into his face. His current state of dishevelment hardly mattered; he had found what he was searching for.

   “There,” he whispered, looking back to Angelina. His sister-in-law still thought he was out of his mind for even trying this, but he was famous for something aside from his dragonology.

   That, of course, was gift-giving.  “You’re mental,” Angelina informed him. “And I have practice in a half hour. Can’t you just get a replica?”

   “Obviously not,” Charlie grinned, turning his attention back to the sleeping common welsh. “Tiamat’s a calm one. She’s been in the sanctuary for years.”

   After the second war, Charlie had stepped up to take control of the Romanian facility. Over the years he had kept it protected from muggles, and always safe. He’d even let Hagrid finally have that visit with Norbert that he’d wanted for so long. In spite of the distance from his large and often high-maintenance family, Charlie loved Romania. Even more so, he loved the dragons.

   “All you have to do is swoop in if she wakes up.”

   Angelina sighed, resting her chin on her broomstick. “You’re going to be fried alive, Charlie. What will I tell all the pretty Romanian boys who’ve been chasing after you?”

   Shaking his head, Charlie began to move through the thick brush. “You’ll have to find some first. Now come on. Help me out on this, and you and my brother get your names on the card.”

   “Don’t forget Fred Jr.,” she reminded him, persuaded by his offer. No doubt everything on Draco and Harry’s registry list would be ludicrously expensive and she knew just the skinny blonde to blame for that. Angelina and George may have been on the budget of a star Quidditch player and a successful independent business owner, but they still didn’t have Malfoy money.

   “I never do,” he reminded her. Fred’s Uncle Charlie and he always had a good time. The dark-skinned little boy was fascinated with Charlie’s job, and George often jokingly accused him of recruiting his son. Having received the news of Hermione’s pregnancy just the other day, it felt strange that he and Ginny were the only Weasleys without children. Soon enough, Victoire and Fred would be heading off to Hogwarts with Ron and Hermione’s kid trailing behind them in age. Molly would undoubtedly spoil them. At least Charlie had his dragons; they were never easily bribed by his mother’s food and tidy home.

   Crouching down under the plant tendrils surrounding Tia’s cave, Charlie gave Angelina a nod and ducked in. From the back of the hollow cave, her snores were amplified by the smooth stone. Tiamat had been one of the first dragons that Charlie had brought to the sanctuary, almost fifteen years ago. Even then she had been a rather old dragon. Tia had lived through all kinds of wars, wizarding and muggle alike. She was always the one he felt the guiltiest about for stunning.

   Long ago her time for fertility had passed. Having only given birth to three sons in her long life, two delivered in the sanctuary, her time for mothering was done. The eggs she produced now were a little like chicken eggs. They were admittedly much harder to crack. On top of that, when they were glazed the lifeless shells became the sanctuary’s greatest source of revenue.

   The natural preserve was funded by their ‘decorative eggs’.  Everyone from the pureblood elite to muggleborn households wanted to get their hands on one. The superstition of good luck surrounding the eggs was resurfacing, which meant even more appreciation for the creatures that the second-eldest Weasley son had devoted his life to. Once a female had laid her brood, it meant more galleons, which meant more land, which meant more opportunities for dragons to be safe and cared for. It was a dream come true for Charlie.

   Charlie tried to tread lightly, but his boots still echoed loudly through the cavern. He was as careful not to wake Tia as he crept forward. Angelina’s eyes remained on Charlie’s back in order to make sure her brother-in-law wouldn’t be eaten for the sake of a formality.

   When Charlie made it to the nest without incident, he let out a breath of air. He froze, keeping his wand at the ready. Slowly, he turned his head to see the green shape in the back of the cave that was obscured by the dark. _Still asleep_ , he thought with relief.

   As delicately as he could, Charlie lowered himself to the ground and whispered a spell. Charlie wasn’t the best at making spells, but this was his crowning glory. A spell that targeted all life forms in the area and made them glow red. After hours of slaving in front of some textbooks, five owls to Remus, and one homemade meal from his mum, he finally got it.

   He looked down to his hands and saw them lined in crimson. Apart from some bugs on the walls and the glow from Tiamat in the back of the cave, the rest was a dark grey.

   In the nest of charred wood and soft feathers from sanctuary birds, one perfect egg sat right in the center. Once the red glow died down, the soft brown edges of the egg were visible. The shell was speckled with green blotches all over the surface. In the light, the green would reflect the sunbeams.

   Considering Draco’s namesake, it was another Perfect Charlie Gift. If only his other siblings possessed his skills in generosity. Even though Charlie and Draco had never walked the halls of Hogwarts at the same time, but he was thoroughly surprised that Draco had never bragged about his name being in the school motto. Even in the limited number of conversations Charlie and Draco had over the Weasley family table, he knew that he was the kind to brag.

   Draco reminded him of a dragon for reasons other than his name. Then again, he related most things to dragons as a point of reference. When his mother was angry, she was a Hungarian Horntail. Either way, it made sense that Draco was named from the Latin root of such a temperamental beast. It captured both sides of him rather well. Dragons were lithe and brilliant, but also were moody and easily offended. He had considered offering Draco a ride with of the leviathans, considering how well they would get along.

   Charlie took brown sack from his pocket and opened it up, reaching forward for the earth-toned beauty. From the back of the cave, he heard Tia’s comforting puffs of breath. He had to remind himself that those puffs were smoke that could soon be fire.

   Once the egg was secure, Charlie turned around to face Angelina. Her bright eyes were wide with shock. She may never understand the family she married into.

   “Come on,” she said in a stage-whisper, waving her hands towards herself.

   With a wry grin, Charlie began to make his way back. He was sure that they were in the clear when he heard what could only be described as a wildebeest imitating a yawn. When Charlie whipped his head around, he saw the dragon stirring from her sleep.

   Throwing all notions of subtlety to the wind, Charlie broke into a run. Usually, Tia could be soothed with a song or the sight of her favorite caretaker. When her eggs were being meddled with, however, she was a little less forgiving.

   “Now would be a good time to fly!” Charlie yelled, his smile having dimmed only by a little bit. He had been in far more dire straits thousands of times before. If worst came to worst, all he would have to do was stun her.

   Without hesitation, Angelina hopped onto her broom and charged forward.

   It all happened in what felt like a few seconds. Charlie grabbed Angelina’s hand and was whisked up into the air. “Sorry, Tia!” he hollered down to her as the ground grew smaller under his dangling feet.

   The leviathan let out a screech into the thick afternoon air. Narrowly dodging the fire stream that followed after, Angelina made a sharp left. “Is this really worth it?” Angelina asked above the roars, zipping away as fast as she could. The question felt a little too late.

   “Of course,” Charlie said into her ear, smiling brightly. The egg was wrapped up in the burlap material, carefully positioned so that no sharp movement would crack it in between them. Dragon yolk was never easy to clean off.

   Her bright eyes looked like molten gold under the sun, leaving her cave far behind. Her brilliant scales were also illuminated by the light. It made her seem otherworldly.

   Tiamat wasn’t giving up so easily. She flanked them from the right, living on pure instinct. Charlie had never fooled himself into thinking dragons were pets, but he did wish she could understand somehow. The ability to speak to dragons would be a whole other ages-long spellmaking experience.

   “You might be a little late to practice,” he warned her, wind rushing along their sides. Tia was still in hot pursuit, literally. Balls of fire were hurled at them from behind, but Tia wasn’t in her prime anymore and Angelina happened to be in hers.

   Tia’s accuracy was off along with her speed, and soon enough they had left her in their wake. She let out one last angry screech before returning to the heart of the sanctuary. Angelina could have fallen off of the broom in relief. Luckily, she held on to reprimand her brother-in-law. “I repeat, you are _mental._ ”

   “Mental and with a flawless wedding gift,” Charlie confirmed.

******

   They were three drafts in and not even close to done.

   “Harry,” Remus sighed, leaning his elbows on Harry’s kitchen table. “Maybe today isn’t the best for this.”

   “Neither is any other day,” Harry replied miserably. “I am hopeless at writing.”

   Remus shook his head. “I graded your essays back in third year, and they were fine. Unless you’ve regressed somehow, I think your problem is the subject matter.”

   “Not making any progress with his eternal promises to Draco?” Sirius asked from the couch. He had declared he was taking a nap to avoid all of the poofy talk of love and soulmates, but hadn’t gotten much sleeping done.

   “None,” Harry sighed. He stood up from the kitchen table and retreated to the tin of cookies they had. It was an emergency, after all. “Whaght did you shay, again?”

   Remus sighed, thinking he at some point should have taught Harry not to talk with his mouth full. Then again, Sirius still didn’t know how not to. “I told the story of how we met, and Sirius… What were yours? Aside from loving and honoring,” Remus asked with a grin.

   “Er,” Sirius said, trying to remember. “Oh! It was that big speech about how I thought I lost you, and how lucky I was to have you. I made you cry.”

   “Sirius,” Harry finished his cookie. “You were the one who cried.”

   His godfather made a frustrated noise on the couch. “Lies! Remus, distract his _obviously confused mind_ with your vows. Or at least what you remember of them.”

   The memory of Sirius shedding a few tears was very concrete, even in his old mind. He decided not to mention it on the grounds that he had been a little glassy-eyed as well. “Fine,” he gave in. Remus kept his elbows on the table, and looked over the kitchen counter at his reclined love. “I started out by saying it had taken far too long for me to finally call you my husband, and that way too many things had gotten in the way. Then I think I said how glad I was for your ability to ignore obstacles like they weren’t even there.

   “Really, that I was glad I’d met you in the first place. That day on the Hogwarts express,” Remus continued.

   “You were indeed one attractive eleven year-old,” Sirius laughed.

   “Dog,” Remus accused without any real blame. “You walked right up to me and said that my scars were the, and I quote, ‘coolest thing you’ve ever seen’. You then proceeded to ask me if I was some kind of wilderness survivor who’d been mauled by a bear.”

   Sirius grinned broadly. “It was a likely possibility!”

   “Yes, at age eight I fought off a grizzly,” he replied sarcastically.

   Harry watched their classic old married couple bickering with a smile. “ _Anyway_ ,” Remus went on. “It was the first time I’d felt good about the scars. The first time I’d felt good in a long time that wasn’t related to Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth finally getting together in Pride and Prejudice.”

   “Because I'm sexier than Mr. Darcy,” Sirius informed him. Harry held back a laugh.

   “Whatever you like to tell yourself. Then I think I went on to make all kinds of promises. To love, respect, adore, and get rid of that pesky last name of yours,” he said with a smile.

   “Isn’t it comforting?” Sirius smirked. “Remus Lupin killed the Black family name. Walburga is spinning in her grave. Hopefully.”

   Seeing them reminisce made Harry feel strangely happy. They were possibly the model of marriage that made him consider it in the first place. The kind of love that bickered as much as it pleased, but still always had room for a romantic gesture or a night of passion. Harry really didn’t like to think about the passion bit. Either way, he was glad they were happy.

   “How did you and Draco first meet?” Remus questioned. He wasn’t quite able to recall Harry ever telling him.

   The groom-to-be shook his head. “It wasn’t very romantic,” he said with a laugh. “I met Draco at Madam Malkin’s robe shop. He reminded me of Dudley, and he was doing this weird thing with hair gel… Draco tried to shake my hand, but I walked away.”

   “Love at first sight,” Sirius teased. He had an idea of what a brainwashed little pureblood Draco had been, but never got to experience him at the height of his cruelty.

   “What happened when you woke up in the hospital, then?” Remus asked, hoping for something a little more sentimental.

   Harry tugged at his muggle t-shirt, thinking back to that day. “When I woke up and saw him at the edge of my bed…” He honestly didn’t like admitting this. “I didn’t have my glasses on, and everything was white, so…”

   “You didn’t,” Sirius said as he sat up on the couch with a wild grin.

   “I _did_ ,” Harry sighed. “I asked him if I was dead, and if he was an angel.”

   Even Remus couldn’t stop himself from chuckling at that, while his husband cackled uncontrollably.

   “Oh, come on!” Harry protested, leaning against the counter. He tried to hide the blush coming over his face. “I had fallen from a broom and lost a lot of blood! My glasses broke in the fall. Aren’t angels supposed to be blonde?”

   “Only in your mind,” Sirius said with a lecherous grin. He hauled himself off of the couch and walked over to meet his godson. “So just tell him he’s your precious little angel!”

   Sirius’ playful mocking was always welcome, but Harry was amidst crisis. “If I said that, Draco would most likely leave me at the altar. I wouldn’t blame him, either.”

   “Then my best advice,” Remus said carefully. “Would be to put this down for a while. To not think about it, and let things come naturally.” He tried his best at being fatherly about this. “Don’t force it, it will come to you.”

   At that, Harry heard a key turning in the lock. Harry rushed to scrap the drafts as quickly as he could and toss them into the trash.

   “Hello, everyone,” Draco said, shopping bags and an exhausted-looking Theo at his side. “Harry, love, you didn’t tell me our favorite canines would be here.” He dropped his bags down on a lounge chair and walked into the kitchen with his best mate trailing him.

   “There’s my niece,” Sirius greeted him with a friendly clap on the back. Draco nearly lost his balance from it. “And Theodore! Word has it you’ve been shagging some school kid. Don’t forget protection when the Aurors come around for statutory.”

   “He is _twenty-five_ ,” Theo stressed for what felt like the hundredth time. Everyone needed to shed that idea of Colin’s innocence, and fast. “And we haven’t had sex yet.”’

   Remus tried to steer the conversation back to something a little less dead-end. “Hello, Theo. And of course, Draco. Excuse him, he’s out of his mind—“

   “And you still married me. What does that make you?” Sirius asked playfully.

   “Insane,” Draco answered for him. “Weddings are insane. But, I managed to buy the flower girl’s dress and the ring bearer’s tuxedo.”

   Theo let out a snort. “Along with every other fucking thing we passed.” Harry’s wallet cringed.

   “Why would I deprive myself of anything?” Draco asked, glancing back to his shopping bags filled with robes and potion ingredients.

   “Because it’s _our_ money and you love me?” Harry offered.

   Draco gave him a winning smile. “Don’t you know we’ll never have to worry about money again? The amount of pure interest we’ll be getting off of combining our fortunes will be astronomical.”

   “So long as Lucius doesn’t find out,” Sirius added.

   “This is why you are all sworn to secrecy.” Draco pointed at each and every one of them to make sure they kept their mouths shut. “Nobody wants to see him throw another hissy fit over knuts and sickles.”

   Sirius was really going to have to keep his mouth shut during the reception. All he wanted was for Lucius (and therefore the whole symbolic pureblood community) to weep in the sight of young love. It was much stronger in his opinion than any bond he had forged with his backwards parents.

   “Fine,” Harry sighed, finally walking up to greet him with a kiss. The whole room of _completely grown men_ made cat calls and let out a collective ‘ooooh’!

   Draco broke the kiss to spit out a “Very mature, everyone.”

   “I’ve never been mature,” Sirius reminded him. “That’s Remus’ job.”

   “Save it for our first kiss as a married couple,” Draco said. “I'm going to take Harry in for a dip.”

   The Gryffindor arched his eyebrows. “No, no you’re not.”

   “Whatever you say, love.” Draco had no intention of changing his plans now.

   “Then I get to carry you across the threshold on our honeymoon,” Harry crossed his arms and tried his best to bargain with a dragon.

   “I’ll consider it.” Draco made his way to his bags and began to sort through pairs upon pairs of trousers.

   Harry wasted no time and followed quickly behind. “Nope. That’s my price.”

   “Fine,” he said just to get Harry to drop it. Before he knew it, there was a pinky in his face. “We are not doing that.”

   “Why not?” Harry asked with a grin.

   “Because it’s stupid, and muggle, and—“ Harry reached down and grabbed Draco’s little finger in his own.

   “Promise me.”

   “Fine!” Draco said. “I promise you.”

   Harry gave his finger a little peck. “There. Was that really so hard?”

   “Excruciating,” he informed his fiancée.

   “I ought to be going,” Theo stepped forward. “I have a business to run and alas, cannot spend my afternoon being both your personal assistant and voyeur to your disgusting romance.” He shot them both a wink and grabbed his own small bag. He did, after all, have to buy them a gift.

   Draco gave him a narrow-eyed little wave and watched him leave with his tongue stuck out. Maturity must have been in the air that day.

   After dinner, they parted with Sirius and Remus. Most of the meal’s topic of discussion had been Ministry affairs, and how Harry was a shoe-in for Head Auror. The legend himself denied it all while informing them on his current case progress, which was practically zero.

   When they finally got around to cleaning off the table at the end of the night, Harry felt something sharp jab into his hand. He let out a long hiss, not entirely sure what he was saying, but it didn’t matter. The moment he looked down, Harry realized he’d been lazy enough to stab himself with a fork. Not even a dignified knife, or a broken glass. A fork.

   “What’s got you riled up, King Cobra?” Draco teased from over by the sink.

   “Nothing,” Harry lied, still embarrassed by his fork encounter. He tried to cover for himself. “I just know how much you like it.”

   Draco put his final dish in the sink and turned around to lazily lean on the counter. “Oh?”

   “Yeah,” Harry said, liking the direction this was going in. He set down the remaining not-so-silver silverware (on behalf of Remus, of course) and sauntered over to where Draco was. He pressed their bodies together and let out a low hiss.

   “Mm, you’re right,” Draco grinned, draping his arms over Harry’s broad shoulders. “But you got one part wrong.”

   Harry glided his hand up Draco’s chest, wrinkling his silken shirt. “What’s that?”

   “I feel a little more strongly about it than ‘liking’,” he informed him, moving to sit up on the counter. Harry chuckled softly and wrapped his arms around Draco’s waist. Slowly, he began to cover Draco’s clothed chest with kisses. Even more slowly was the pace of his unbuttoning. The blonde let out an impatient whine.

   In reply, Harry gave him a sharp hiss. Draco could hardly help himself; he circled his legs around Harry and pressed him close.

   “If you’re going to be difficult, then at least let’s go to bed.”

   Harry had been planning on doing exactly that. He kissed him hard on the lips before he grabbed handfuls of Draco’s arse right off of the counter and lifted him up. Draco let out a surprised noise, and the hands that already had purchase on Harry’s back gripped on tightly. His thighs clung tightly to Harry’s waist as he proved just who would be carrying who across the threshold.

   Years of Auror training came in handy when he finally carried Draco over to the bed and laid him down.

   “ _Beautiful_ ,” he said in parseltongue.

   Draco got the feeling he should be going slow this time around, but he also had a much stronger feeling right in the middle of his groin. That final hiss made him quiver beneath Harry. Half of him wanted to kiss him, but the other half didn’t want to stop those noises.

   Just to try it out, Harry shed his shirt while listing any word he could think of in parseltongue. “ _Washing machine, juggling, hula-hoops, basketball, lilac_ ,” he hissed out and tried to hide his smile.

   “Fuck, that is so sexy,” Draco murmured. It was a good thing his eyes had fluttered shut. His hand went down to rub the bulge in his pants just to get some relief.

   Harry gave him a soft kiss before unbuckling Draco’s trousers and sliding them down along with his pants, exposing the warm skin underneath. Harry laid worship to his body.

   Draco’s nipples had perked up in the rush of silk, and Harry couldn’t keep from wrapping his lips around one. The other man groaned at the touch; his pale and very naked body rising up to meet him. Harry sucked hard, his hand moving to tweak the other neglected nub. When Harry let it slide from his teeth, the nipple had turned a cherry red. Harry hissed, sending a gust of cool air over the sensitive skin.

   “Harry,” Draco gasped, tilting his head back.

   Not quite done with his reverence yet, Harry focused his attention on his impossibly soft stomach. It rose and fell unevenly with each of Draco’s shudders.

   Harry’s tongue flicked out across his alabaster skin, making shapes and messages that he didn’t even really understand. All the while, he let a low hiss build up in the back of his throat and listened to it keep the beat of Draco’s moans.

   Finally, Harry hovered over his hard cock. He let a hiss dance over the head of Draco’s prick, and watched in awe as he let out a breathtaking moan.

   “ _You are mine_.” It was more fact than question. After wordlessly conjuring some lube onto his fingers, Harry took the tip in his mouth. Draco’s thighs tightened up, his whole body clenching needily. “ _You need to relax, Draco. I'm going to take care of everything_.”

   With that, Harry’s thumb gently prodded at Draco’s taut hole. He slipped it inside him, his stomach flipping inside him when Draco pushed back against it.

   Continuing to suck his cock, Harry’s only free hand Vanished his trousers and pants. No need to make things more complicated than they already were. His own erection stood free, and he had to consciously remember not to rut himself into the bed.

   Adding his forefinger, Harry hissed around Draco’s cock. His tongue circled the head until Draco yelled.

   One by one, Harry pushed his fingers in when he knew Draco was ready for another. The blonde was reduced to a panting and whimpering mass of pure desire, shoving back onto all five of Harry’s fingers while the Gryffindor occupied himself with sucking on Draco’s scrotum.

   “Harry, fuck,” Draco groaned loudly, leaning into the burn. All of the stretching felt white-hot, like he was right on the verge of something. “Don’t stop.”

   “ _Wasn’t planning on it_ ,” Harry told him in parseltongue, which got another moan out of Draco.

   Thrusting his fingers in and out, Harry had to rub his own cock to keep it from flagging. He didn’t need anything more than this. All it took was watching Draco writhe and feeling him stretch around his fingers to bring him close to the edge.

   He knew Draco was close when he started shoving his hips back with reckless abandon, taking him in deeper and faster. Harry’s hand matched his movements, moving back to throat Draco’s shaft. “Harry, fuck, _Harry_ —“ he roared, coming with a shout.

   Harry swallowed as much as he could before his eyes flicked up to see Draco’s face. He looked like a Grecian God when he climaxed. Powerful, and so very, very angelically blonde. While his lithe body relaxed, Harry was close to his own orgasm.

   Moving to straddle Draco’s waist, the Slytherin perked up and leant him a hand. They both rubbed his cock in tandem until he came in erratic, white bursts onto Draco’s chest.

   By the time Harry practically fell on top of him, they were both sticky and sated.

   “ _I love you_ ,” he whispered, not realizing he was still in parseltongue.

   “Hmm?” Draco asked. He was too busy getting lost in Harry’s dark forest of hair to really pay attention to much.

   “I love you,” Harry corrected.

   Draco smiled and gave him a kiss. The fact that the usually prissy man wasn’t even trying to clean them up was a gift enough, and then he had to go and make it better. “I love you too.”

   Harry removed his glasses, realizing they’d been on the whole time, and put them on the nightstand. He buried his face in Draco’s neck and took a breath in. It all smelled of Draco. With that one name, one word, capturing him entirely, Harry fell asleep.


	25. Burning Down the House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some changes in household structures. One is very literal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Antonia, because she didn't want a chapter dedicated to her. Look at me now, I'm getting paper. Sorry this chapter took so long, I have been buried in work and the new World of Warcraft expansion is out. Also, the title inspiration comes from another one of my favorite plays.

**Chapter 25: Burning Down the House**

   June became July faster than Pansy had expected. She’d been filling her days with so many hospital shifts and rogue search parties that Pansy Parkinson—Queen of All Things Indulgent—had almost forgotten what being idle felt like. Still not a very nostalgic person, she didn’t look back on how her June had been filled with a whirlwind of wedding talk, healing spells, margaritas, old pureblood houses, and of course, Maggie.

   It was very unlike her to have a person so firmly stuck in her mind. Every corner Pansy turned in the emergency American Crabbe estate felt like it was another twist leading her to some kind of greater revelation. Usually, Pansy was able to shut that up with alcohol, partying, and general promiscuity.

   Alas, the only thing she had at her disposal was firewhiskey.

   Cracking open a bottle whilst searching for one’s dead friend’s mother seemed rather inappropriate, so Pansy was forced to go without even that small comfort.

   “This isn’t getting anything done,” Blaise complained loudly. It echoed through the mostly-empty halls.

   The house had a much more modern feel to it than the others; mostly because it was meant to blend in just in case the Crabbes needed to lay low for a while. The amount of muggle technology had shocked Pansy at first. “Yes, it is,” she informed him. “If you came here to bitch at me, I will be sorely disappointed.”

   “Yeah, yeah,” he huffed. “When aren’t you?” Blaise hadn’t meant for that to sound so scathing.

   Pansy turned on her heels. “When you cooperate, that’s when. Go check the basement if you’re getting so damn impatient.”

   Only when Blaise left had she allowed herself to let out a shuddery breath. This whole ordeal made her feel like the rug had been pulled out from under her. Vince was dead. It only seemed like his dysfunctional family drama should have died with him.

   Anxiously, she fidgeted with the heavy pendant around her neck. Its green stone would have been better shown off if the lights weren’t so drab.

   The sound Pansy heard next started as a low buzzing in her ear. Slowly, it built up to a tapping, coming from the bedroom. _Tap, tap, tap._

“Blaise?” she called nervously. “I swear to fucking Salazar, if you’re trying to scare me or some shit—“

   The tapping increased in volume, a low creak inching through the door.

   “I will murder you in your sleep, Blaise,” Pansy warned, even though she was pleading that it was him.

   Going against her better judgment and almost every horror novel she’d read back in school, Pansy reached for the doorknob. As if she could possibly possess the element of surprise, she shoved the door open, pointing her wand into the room. “Freeze!”

   Rather than all of her Auror fantasies coming true and a ferocious action scene occurring, Pansy discovered her wand was drawn to defend herself from some sort of overgrown weed in a pot on the bedside table. The long tendrils creeped across the room as it grew, which Pansy pinned as the source of the tapping noise. Either that or the plant was trying to kill her. Herbology had never been her specialty.

   “Pansy Parkinson, last heir to the Parkinson name and fortune,” she declared. “Saved by a house plant.”

   It took about every muscle in her not to burst out laughing. It was a good thing she didn’t laugh, because the second Pansy dropped her guard, the green stalks lashed out.

   One caught ahold of her free hand, while another anchored down on her shoulder. Pansy let out a muggle horror-flick worthy scream before firing every spell she could at the malicious greenery. It let out a high-pitched squeal when it was struck by her fire and stunning charms, but the rest seemed to have no effect.

   “Get _off_ of me!” Pansy roared, as if the plant could somehow understand. A thick root tried to take hold of her neck.

   After working several hours on glamour charms to make that damned neck less stumpy and pug-like, Pansy was sure as hell not going to let some angry shrubbery mess it up. She cast another fire spell, struggling against the tendrils until she felt a hand tugging at her back. Pansy gritted her teeth and fired another spell off. The ball of fire hurled towards the plant and it let out a screech, withdrawing its prying stems.

   Pansy fell backwards with an undignified ‘oomph’. The man beneath her let out a noise of discomfort. “For a lightweight, you really are heavy,” Blaise snapped.

   If this had been a normal and casual situation, Pansy would have blackened his eyes. Then he would see who the lightweight was. This predicament, however, involved being in a house that was now quickly catching fire, and to Pansy’s dismay this did not allow her to cast a proper water spell on the screaming plant in the bedroom. Everyone had their exceptions.

   Trying another ‘Aguamenti’, she felt frustrated to no end. Even her wand seemed to be failing her. The ribbons of water barely even doused some of the quickly gathering embers.

   “We have to get out of here,” she said, moving to stand. The bedroom drapes had already caught flame, and she didn’t want to be next. It was all a little too ironic to die in the Crabbe house because of a fire.

   Once Blaise discovered the smoke rising, he couldn’t help but agree. Grabbing a nearby railing, he began to race down the stairs. He was strangely relieved to hear Pansy’s heel-clicks follow him down.

   By the time they both reached the ground floor, the fire had spread. The smell of burning rot saturated the air. It weighed down on them as they scrambled for the door, blindly reaching out and trying to keep their lungs clear of the blackened air.

   When Pansy’s fingers landed on the brass doorknob, she thought she might start crying with glee. Pansy Parkinson never cried.

   She turned it and pushed outwards, tumbling onto the cement landing with Blaise not far behind. Without having to say a word they both broke into a sprint. Neither of them felt ready to join Vince six feet under.

   Ripping her shoes off of her feet for better footing, Pansy kept pace. She didn’t know why she kept on running far passed the point where it was dangerous to be near the house. When she stopped running, the house was only a column of smoke in the distance.

   “Pansy—“ Blaise gasped, somehow having fallen behind her. “Pansy, _stop running_.”

   It took her a few more meters to hear him. A part of her wanted to keep going; to run across the grass of a place she barely knew and not turn around to see the fire she’d left behind. When she finally came to a halt, her knees felt weak. It didn’t seem at all strange to sit down on the ground and ruin her white skirt.

   “Pansy,” he tried again. “Are you alright?”

   She laughed out loud, like some kind of madwoman. “Am I _alright_?” she asked in disbelief, looking up at him. Pansy had never noticed that Blaise was so damn _tall_. “I just set Vince’s emergency house on fire. Now where are they going to go?” Her voice caught in her throat after she said that, remembering he would never need any house again.

   Blaise knelt down on the ground next to her. His voice was gentle, like he was coddling some sort of addle-brained Alzheimer’s patient. “Pansy—“

   “I know,” she cut him off. “I just…” A convincing lie came to her as quickly as usual. Her knack for bending the truth was really more of an art form. “The pretty girl always dies first in horror movies.”

   “What?” Blaise asked, bewildered.

   “You know,” she spun her web. “In muggle flicks. The hot ones are always the first to go. I wanted to be extra careful.” It sounded self-absorbed enough to be something she would actually think, and seemed to have a Pansy Logic feel about it.

   Luckily, Blaise bought it. “You are impossible.”

   “I never claimed not to be,” Pansy countered, thinking back to past arguments.

   “And you’re wrong,” Blaise informed her, taking a seat next to her so that he got a good view of the darkening sky.

   Pansy frowned. “Are you saying I'm not the hot one here?”

   “No,” he grinned. “I'm saying that in muggle flicks, the black guy always dies first.”

   Even though they both smelled like a campfire, they burst into laughter. “The two of us wouldn’t make it through the first five minutes,” she confirmed.

   “People would watch our overdramatic deaths for years to come,” Blaise confirmed, leaning back so that his arm was almost, possibly around Pansy. It closely resembled camaraderie. “At least they would mourn us.”

   She nodded, turning back to face the burning house. The angry scratches on her neck throbbed lightly, and she took out her wand to heal the wounds.

******

   “I can’t do it,” Alex announced, looking up to his tutor. Even so, Remus’ patience had far from thinned.

   “Yes you can,” he told him carefully. “I know it sounds cheesy, but if you close your eyes and let the spell fill—“

   Alex shook his head. “I'm awful at this. There’s no way I'm going to make it through second year. Professor Lupin, I hate to tell you this, but I am completely hopeless.”

   “I don’t believe that for one second,” Remus insisted. “This spell is a little like lightning. It’s hard to control, but you’ll learn a lot from it. It rushes through you, and your wand is the siphon.”

   Alexander had had a tough start last year with Hogwarts, and he had practically begged for Remus to tutor him. He had no money of his own to speak of, and spent most of his time in a charity-funded program at Hogwarts over the summer. “Show me again,” he said with a little more confidence, walking towards Remus to observe him.

   ‘Professor Lupin’ was both his head of house and favorite teacher. Because of Alex’s need for a little more attention than other students, the two had spent quite a long time together in his first year. Then again, everyone loved Professor Lupin. Even the Slytherins.

   “Flipendo!” Remus pronounced clearly, exaggerating his arm movements a little for demonstration purposes. The bell jar resting on a desk at the end of the Defense Against the Dark Arts room went flying, and bounced off of the wall. Remus had of course charmed it with a ‘spongify’.

   With a wave of Remus’ wand, the jar was back on the dark wood desk. It seemed to capture the light and almost, in a sick way, beg to be smashed.

   Alexander loved the idea of smashing. “Now you,” his professor motioned towards the target.

   Summoning up every ounce of bravery that had put him in Gryffindor in the first place, Alex got in the proper casting position. He could practically hear Remus’ voice in his head. _Shoulders down, feet shoulder length apart…_

“Flipendo!” he tried. His chestnut wood wand spurted out orange sparks and made a loud cracking noise. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

   “Try again,” Remus urged him. At least sparks were coming out this time around.

   Alex wondered if it took some sort of mental resolve to cast the spell. He pinned his dark brown hair—that had grown far too long—behind his ears. “Come on,” he said below his breath, steadying his wand. “It’s not that hard. You’re a wizard. You’re a bloody _wizard_.”

   His teacher smiled to himself, having heard the entire thing. Whatever worked for his students was always allowed in his book.

   “Flipendo!” Alex yelled. A spiral of orange beams came from the wand, reaching across the room, halfway there—

   And then it fizzed out.

   “It was _so close_!”

   “So try it again,” Remus told him, resting on a nearby desk. His relaxed posture was to take the pressure off of his pupil, but really he was holding his breath with each cast. Alex tried so damn hard, it only seemed right that the spell should come to him.

   He shook his hands out, trying to get loose. Alex looked a little bit like a track-runner starting a marathon. Trying to clear his head of all other thoughts (being outside, the fact that it was _summer_ , the fact that he was hungry, that pretty Ravenclaw in his charms class…); he tried to imagine a blank slate. A blank slate with a perfect Flipendo spell. He felt ridiculous, but he had to push that out of his head as well.

   Alex took another deep, cleansing breath. He’d once seen that on some yoga show. “Flipendo!” he roared, his wand swishing at just the right moment. The tip of his wand erupted in an orange spiral of combustion, a clear swooshing in the air and then the sound of a jar smashing against a wall.

   Apparently, Remus needed some work on his charm skills. “That was fantastic!”

   “I broke your jar,” Alex breathed.

   “It doesn’t matter,” Remus said, approaching him. He cast a ‘Reparo’ just to prove how little he cared about the jar. “Congratulations, Alex Turner. You cast a defense spell correctly.”

   His smile threatened to crack his small face. “I can’t believe it.”

   “I can,” he told his student, giving him a friendly pat on the shoulder. At that, Alex’s face threatened to shatter his grin was so wide.

   “So, what about all the other ones? Maybe I'm on a roll,” Alex smirked.

   “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Remus said slowly. “We have to make sure you have this one down first.”

   Alex let out an impatient sigh. “Fine. But can we get lunch at the Three Broomsticks again? I don’t think I can handle much more Hogwarts stock food.”

   “I think that’s been in there since I went to school here,” Remus agreed. “But I don’t know if I can—“

   “Please?” Alex asked, clasping his hands together. He tried his best at making puppy eyes, the way that people did on television.

   Remus could never truly resist anything vaguely canine. He imagined Sirius would understand if he missed lunch at home. His cursebreaking had often run into dinner, and it was never a big fuss.

   “Fine,” Remus gave in. “Now let’s see that spell again.”

******

   Harry twisted the locket in his hand, wiping the soot from its edges. “This was the only piece of jewelry we could find,” he told Ron. The charred frame of what used to be an off-the-books Crabbe house wobbled behind them.

   The American Aurors had called them in once they realized who the owner of the house was. Some analyst had pointed out that the supposed owner of the house on the deed; ‘Martial Cabbed’ was an anagram for the true owner. Matilda Crabbe.

   It had been the first real development since Harry had been put in St. Mungo’s, even though it wasn’t much. “Or the only piece that survived the fire,” Ron said. “Everything else sort of burnt to a crisp.”

   Fires did not acknowledge pureblood artifacts, apparently. “Aguamenti,” Harry murmured, and a strong jet of water came out of his wand. It cleared away most of the black debris covering the pendant’s surface.

   He adjusted his glasses and looked down; trying to see passed the chunk of emerald. There was a shape behind it, a letter…  A letter surrounded by a green and black shield. A silvery ‘M’ with serpents inching their way around the border. Harry felt his stomach drop.

   The Malfoy family crest wasn’t something he usually liked to think about, considering he would never exactly be invited to wear it, but he knew what it looked like. “Ron,” Harry said, looking back to his partner. Ron had begun sifting through the burnt kitchen.

   “Hm?”

   “I have to go,” Harry informed him, ignoring the strange look he received. “Can you handle the scene on your own?”

   “Yeah, but where are you going?” Ron asked with a frown. Harry was always trying to do things on his own, just like the war.

   He shoved the necklace in his pocket. “To Kingsley’s office,” he lied. “He said he wanted to speak with me soon.”

   “Because you’re getting that Head Auror job, no doubt,” Ron grinned and Harry felt a twinge of guilt for lying to his best friend. He just wouldn’t understand the strange loyalty Harry had towards the Malfoy family.

   “Sure,” he said. Harry tried his best not to let the guilt shine through in his voice. The last thing he saw before he apparated was Ron turning back to what should have been _their_ work, and the sun dipping behind the singed frame of the house.

   When Harry arrived on the steps to Malfoy Manor entirely alone, even the summer breeze couldn’t quiet the chill in his bones. At least he knew who was inside this time around.

   Draco had gone to have a family dinner, and Harry had been too busy with work to attend. He still couldn’t tell if that was a blessing or a curse. Feeling a pit of worry form in his stomach, (why would the locket be there if the Malfoys were innocent?) Harry reached for the old knocker. He brought it down on the doorframe and listened to the echoes it made over the white surface of the house. At least it wasn’t black anymore. He couldn’t take much more of a reminder of what he’d left Ron with.

   “Master Potter!” Gerda snapped him out of the guilt trip.

   He looked down to the poor, thin-looking creature. “Just ‘Harry’, remember?” he asked quietly.

   Gerda shook her head. “This way,” she said, leading him into the house.

   Harry left his muddy Auror boots by the door, not wanting to be any more obtuse than he already was, coming in an hour late to dinner with an accusation in his pocket.

   When Harry reached the dining room, he spotted them all on the third course. “Harry!” Draco practically yelled, looking at him with eyes that could really only be described as relieved. Immediately, he got out of his chair and greeted his fiancée with a kiss.

   The kiss was returned, much to Lucius’ distaste. He could handle his son being gay, and he was beginning to handle his son being with Harry Potter, but there was no way in hell he was about to start putting up with PDA.

   “I thought you were busy all night with work,” Draco said, resting his arms around Harry’s shoulders. Harry was his knight in shining Aurors robes, having saved him from being bombarded with questions by Lucius for the rest of the night.

   “I was,” he admitted. He didn’t want to lie to anyone else that night. “But we found something. Something that I haven’t brought to the Ministry yet.” It felt so wrong to say out loud. If the locket wound up being an integral part of the case, Harry could be in a mess of Ministry red tape.

   Lucius shifted in his seat. “More demands from the Auror of the Month?” His attempt at covering his concern with a caustic tone fell a little flat.

   “No demands. I just need you to tell me—“ Harry reached into his pocket, drawing out the glimmering necklace. “Where this came from.”

   Draco’s eyes widened. “Grandmother’s necklace?”

   “How did you get that?” Lucius demanded. He got up from his seat at the head of the table and came to inspect the locket. “And why does it smell like some kind of furnace?”

   Harry allowed him to inspect the jewelry. “Because there was a fire. One of the safe houses the Crabbes used under a fake name caught flame somehow. We’re working on investigating that right now, but when I was going through the rubble, I found this.”

   Slowly, Lucius realized what Harry was trying to do. He was trying to protect their family, get an explanation from them first. It made Harry seem… Almost trustworthy. “It’s Narcissa’s mother’s necklace,” he told his future son-in-law before looking back to his wife.

   She had been suspiciously quiet the entire visit for someone who had been so eager to serve their parents.

   “Narcissa?” Lucius asked carefully, inching towards her. At the sound of her name, she seemed to crumple. He rushed to her side, not knowing what was going on in Narcissa’s mind. Lucius always knew what the she was thinking; it felt strange not to know.

   Narcissa shook her head and looked down at the table. “Draco, I'm so sorry.”

   “What?” Draco asked, stepping out of Harry’s arms.

   “It was when you were engaged,” she tried to tell him. Narcissa stood up from her chair and looked more pleading than ever.

   “I'm engaged right now, mother.”

   With regret, she shook her head. “The first time. When you were promised to Pansy.”

   Harry tried his best not to laugh. The idea of Pansy and Draco being married was honestly comedic. “In _third year_ ,” Draco reminded her, trying to cover the flush on his face.

   “I remember,” Narcissa told him. “I gave the locket to her. I wanted Pansy to feel welcome in the family, and it looked rather beautiful on her.”

   Draco couldn’t believe Pansy had never bragged to him about that. She held just about everything else over his head, why not this?

   “We could always give it to Pot—Harry, now,” Lucius snarked.

   It broke the barrier of Harry’s laughter. “I think I'm better without, thanks. Sorry I interrupted your dinner.”

   “It’s fine,” Draco insisted. “Really.” He clamped a hand down around Harry’s wrist, preventing even thoughts of escape. If he was going to have to suffer, Harry would simply have to suffer with him.

   Lucius couldn’t really oppose the idea. The shock of Harry trying to protect his family, which terrifyingly enough would soon be _their_ family, still hadn’t worn off. “Sit,” he said after a moment, motioning to a chair next to Draco.

   Cautiously, Harry sat down at the Malfoy family table. “So, Pansy was the last one who you know had this?” he clarified.

   “Yes,” Narcissa answered quietly. Meanwhile, Lucius ordered Gerda for another plate.

   “Thank you for telling me,” Harry responded, matching her soft tone and trying not to rage about the house elf abuse. He knew that Narcissa was very well entitled to keep her secrets to herself. Just because he was in love with her son didn’t mean she had to become an open book for him and his investigation.

   It was a good thing that Narcissa was sitting down, because her knees were starting to feel a little weak. First, she had given Matilda’s identity away. Now, it seemed Pansy was getting entangled in this mess. Even though she hadn’t married her Draco, Pansy still felt like the daughter she never had. “Anything to help,” she covered before moving on to what she really needed to know. “Is Pansy involved somehow?”

   “I don’t know,” Harry said honestly. “All we found that ties her to it was the necklace. If she got it in third year, it could have wound up anywhere. Were the Crabbes close with her family?”

   Draco gave a little snort like it was obvious. He often forgot that Harry wasn’t aware of the abnormalities of pureblood culture. “Everyone was ‘close’ with the Crabbes,” he told his fiancée. “Their solstice parties were to die for, and they were close with almost all of the Sacred Twenty-Eight.” He said the last part with the same scorn he associated it with in his head.

   Harry hadn’t heard that term in months. Draco liked to joke about it, but most of the pillar families had fallen to becoming Death Eaters.  Black, Carrow, Crouch, Gaunt, Lestrange, Malfoy, Nott, Rosier, Rowle, Selwyn, Travers, and Yaxley families had gone from pureblood elite to hated minority in mere weeks after the war. About forty-three percent of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, at that.

   It felt strange, but conversation eventually shifted to things that may or may not have been considered normal table talk. Draco’s work, Lucius’ recent art sales, and even some wedding details. For Harry, it all felt like an out-of-body experience. Lucius’ glare wasn’t quite as sharp as usual, and even Draco seemed more at ease. The fact that the visit had started out with the silver-chained locket was almost forgotten.

   Harry would handle talking to Pansy the next day. Without Ministry regulation. It all felt so wrong and below the radar. He’d never done anything like it before. Even when he was investigating strength potion charges in the Quidditch teams in England, he’d never warned Ginny about anything.

   For now he was content to sit back in the mahogany chair and watch them talk, laugh when appropriate, and see the evening fade away in his wine glass


	26. Taking Care of Business

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry takes care of business; without his employer actually knowing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone! Yes, I'm still alive. Only barely, though, since I'm taking the SATs this weekend and my school is in full swing. Thanks for sticking around! Also, sorry this chapter is sort of short.

**Chapter 26: Taking Care of Business**

   Harry hadn’t realized just how hard purebloods could drink. He always thought it was specific to Draco and Pansy, considering they had built up a tolerance over the years. Apparently, along with supposed superiority, there were a few drops of firewhiskey in high-born veins.

   It left Harry considering his life decisions when he woke up in Draco’s childhood room. It was obvious from the Slytherin pennants and photos of schooldays. There was one where Crabbe and Goyle had each thrown an arm around Draco. They looked young, laughing and looking into the camera to give their best smiles

   He had no idea when he’d taken his shoes off, but Draco’s were off as well. He also had no idea why he was on the small couch in Draco’s room under a thin blanket, and his fiancée was on the bed.

   “What the hell,” Draco murmured, rolling onto his back and lifting himself up to sit. “Where…” Once he realized he’d lived there for seventeen years, it all made sense. It looked like a time capsule, unchanged in spite of the fact that Draco had practically gone through a metamorphosis. “Oh.”

   “I'm surprised I’ve never been in here,” Harry laughed, leaning back on the couch to take in the emerald room. His head felt light on his shoulders, but otherwise the alcohol hadn’t affected him much.

   Draco looked entirely debauched, his usually pristine blonde hair in all sorts of spikes. “Ah, yes. Welcome to my inner lair of teenage angst.”

   They both laughed, and Harry hauled himself off of the Slytherin-green couch. He crossed to the green bedspread, a quiet reminder of what Draco first had in mind for their flat’s linens. He groggily rested his head on Draco’s shoulder. It seemed they were both fully clothed, unfortunately. “Any idea how we got here?”

   Harry didn’t know Draco’s face could get any paler until he glanced up at him. “Oh Salazar. I think…”

   “Your parents did not  _tuck us in_ ,” Harry said, almost in a panic that verged on hysterical laughter. “They did  _not_.”

   Wordlessly, their eyes met and they burst into uncontrollable laughter. The morning sun reflected off of the white wood of Draco’s bedframe through his glass balcony doors. “Harry,” he gasped in between laughs. “They  _put you on the couch_.”

   “I know!” Harry laughed. “Like I was going to drunkenly jump you in your childhood bed.”

   Draco paused for a moment to consider the idea. “Well, I have had a few too many unreturned wanks in this bed,” he mused, running his hands over the embroidered duvet. Tiny dragons flew across the luxurious fabric and made Harry smile. It felt good, knowing where his Draco came from. Sometimes that was more literal than he intended.

   He gave him a sloppy kiss, moving a leg in between his thighs. “We’re just going to have to fix that.”

   “Harry James Potter,” Draco said with mock-innocence, arching into him. “Are you trying to seduce me?”

   “Possibly so.” His hand moved up Draco’s thigh, giving him a playful squeeze. Harry was fully intent on doing just that when he glanced over to the nightstand. Atop it was a little green stuffed dragon with red wing detailing. “With him watching and everything.”

   Draco twisted around to see what he was talking about when he spotted the plushie. “I got rid of that thing years ago!” he protested, reaching for the doe-eyed dragon. His mother had a habit of clinging to his childhood in the form of toys and baby photos.

   “Apparently,” Harry laughed, snatching the stuffed animal from his hands. “He missed you.”

   “Give that back!” Draco wrestled for the childhood memento. Even so, Harry was quicker.

   He held it up in the air. “It’s cute, Draco! See? He’s pretty fond of you,” he teased, smushing the dragon into the side of Draco’s face. It certainly did nothing for his bedhead.

   “Prick,” Draco retorted, looking menacingly at the stuffed dragon and giving up on physically outmatching the man who had gone through years of Auror training.

   “Usually, you like it when pricks and I are involved.”

   With a roll of his eyes, Draco leaned forward. “Then I suppose I’ll just have to call you a prat.”

   “Works for me.” Harry was smiling so widely it felt like his face would break. Switching his attention back to the confiscated toy. “’I love you, Drakey’,” he teased in a high-pitched voice, moving the dragon along with his voice like a puppet.

   His silver eyes narrowed at the mention of The Nickname. “That’s it, you’re going down.”

   Draco pounced on top of him, sending them rolling across his bed in the sheets. In between them they grabbed at the plushie, tugging in both directions. Slyly, Draco gave Harry a hard kiss and used the distraction to take the dragon from Harry’s hands.

   “I win,” Draco declared, lobbing the dragon across the room. It knocked a few knick-knacks down off of his white book case, but he could care less. It really wasn’t even his room anymore.

   “But I still get to remind you that you slept with a stuffie every day as a kid,” Harry said blissfully, not at all averse to being pinned under Draco at the moment.

   “Not every day!” Draco argued, giving him a little shove. “Just sometimes.”

   “Did you cuddle with it?” he asked, still not through poking fun at him. “Does he at least have a name?”

   Draco shook his head, keeping Maurice’s name a secret. “Don’t push your luck, Potter.”

   “So he does have a name. Also, it won’t be ‘Potter’ for much longer.”

   “Mm, that’s right,” Draco said happily, sitting back on his haunches. “Malfoy-Potter, then.”

   “Potter-Malfoy.”

   “I think not.” He moved to pin Harry’s wrists down, sneaking in another kiss. “You’re just starting to get on my parent’s good side. That’s practically impossible, and you’re managing to do it. Don’t throw that away for a last name.”

   “I imagine they just wanted ‘Malfoy’,” Harry huffed. That was hardly a surprise.

   Draco nodded. “Be happy I talked them out of that.”

    It felt strange, but Harry felt at least some part of the marriage should be about welcoming Draco into  _his_  family. Leave it to a heteronormative ceremony to bring out the parental issues Harry had tried to bury away, and thought he was over with, ever since the war ended. “Draco.”

   “You can still put ‘Potter’ first on checks,” Draco offered, stretching out over him like a cat. Harry’s arms circled around Draco’s waist without even thinking about it.

   “It’s not checks that concern me,” Harry explained. He hesitated to say what actually concerned him. It was the wrong time to bring it up, and definitely the wrong setting.

   “Then what  _does_?”

   Harry squirmed beneath Draco’s hold, but kept his arm around him. “I think that if we had kids—“

   “ _Really_?”

   “What?” he returned, knowing he shouldn’t have revisited the subject. “If we have kids, I’d want their dads to have the same last names, and for all of us to have the same last names.”

   Draco inhaled sharply. If he ever were to have kids, Harry’s logic went right along with his. Sometimes, their similarities were daunting. “Then can’t they be Malfoy-Potters?”

   “Fine,” he sighed. It was one of the many defeats he was suffering in wedding compromises.

   “Your last name is still in there,” Draco said quietly. He hadn’t realized it mattered so much, and he hated that disappointed tone Harry took on.

   “I guess,” Harry said quietly, pulling him in for a kiss to assure him that a last name wasn’t all that mattered.

   The kiss was languid and without any demand. Being a wizard had its upsides, like lack of morning breath. Instead, Draco tasted sweet, like mulberries.

   Just as Harry decided to deepen the kiss, he heard the bedroom door open.

   “Draco, get up. You’ll be late for—“

   Since he wasn’t expecting anything out of the ordinary, Lucius had entered in his dark green bathrobe with a steaming mug of coffee. On top of the fact that he had been caught with what he declared to be a ‘plebian’ drink, his son was snogging the Savior of the Wizarding World. When the couple snapped their heads up, everyone remained deadly quiet, as if speaking would verify the fact that Lucius had just walked in on something intimate.

   Of course, it was Draco who broke the silence. “Father, we have a  _rule_  about when I have boys in my room.”

   “And what kind of boys do you usually have in your room?” Harry asked with a hint of offense from beneath his fiancée.

   Draco waved away his concern with his hand. The rule was established far before Harry had come into the picture. “Knock, father. Remember?” Draco asked.

   Apparently, Lucius was stunned into complete vegetation. He just stood at the door with his mouth open like he was trying to catch flies.

   “Father,” he urged, motioning for him to leave.

   “Er, sorry, sir,” Harry said, scrambling to sit up on the bed. Lucius looked to the couch and back to his future son-in-law. “I didn’t realize that—“

   “That you’re in my home?” Lucius asked, breaking his silence.

   Harry tried to come up with some sort of explanation, but Draco cut him off. “You’re the one who put him on my couch, let’s not forget,” Draco grinned.

   He shook his head. “I went to sleep. Your mother was the one who felt bad about leaving you in the lounge. At least she had the decency to put Harry on your couch.” Lucius gave him a suspicious glare. “Though he seemed to find his way back to you rather speedily.”

   Rather than face Lucius’ protective wrath, Harry grabbed his shoes from the foot of the bed. “Right, anyway, you said we would be late. And you’re right! Fancy that. Not that you haven’t been right other times, just that you’re right this time especially—“

   Draco silenced his babbling with a hand on his shoulder. “Father, let us get changed,” he said calmly, challenging his father to stick around when he started to unbutton his shirt.

   “Fine,” Lucius muttered, giving Harry one last accusatory look before shutting the door behind him.

   When his footsteps faded out of earshot, the two melted into laughter once again.

******

   Kissing a girl was something Pansy had missed. Not even really the foreplay, or the sex that came afterwards. Just the kissing, and the way Pansy could get her arms all the way around her waist. Maggie was all thick, curly hair and soft, kissable lips.

   “This is on my checklist,” Pansy informed her, her elbow knocking into a vial of Pepperup potion.

   Maggie grinned against her lips and moved her index finger down Pansy’s abdomen. Luckily, the cupboard didn’t smell as bad as she expected when Pansy had pulled her into the room for a quick reconnection of sorts. “What checklist?” Up close, her freckles looked like their own separate islands floating across a creamy plane.

   Pansy shivered with excitement at that, glad Maggie had been able to find her weak spot so early on—before they’d even hopped in bed together. She couldn’t quite wait until they did that, in all honesty. Whoever said that men were more sexual than women were entirely wrong and most likely celibate themselves. Pansy had fantasized about it at every opportunity; in her bed, her shower, her kitchen…

   “My checklist of intimate escapades,” Pansy informed her, twirling a strand of her fire-kissed hair.

   It took Maggie quite an amount of self-restraint not to laugh out loud. “You have a checklist? Like, an actual, physical list?”

   “It’s currently sitting in my nightstand. I’ll have to go home and check off ‘Redhead in a supply closet’.”

   At that, she laughed. Though Maggie could hardly say it was a big surprise. “Princess, have I ever told you that you’re out of your mind?”

   “Several times,” Pansy reminded her, stealing another kiss. “The first time when I suggested we redecorate the coma patient’s wing.” Kiss. “The second when I stood outside the winner of Witch Weekly’s winner of best smile to catch a glimpse.” Kiss. “And I think I lost count after that.”

   Maggie brushed her fingers along Pansy’s neck. She was happy to see the woman shudder at the light touch. “And usually you’re so good with numbers, too.”

   “I didn’t think I would be,” she said honestly. “I haven’t exactly been studying potion measurements these past years. You’ve probably read what the papers had to say about what I was doing since… Well, after the war, and sometimes before it.”

   “I don’t read those papers,” Maggie reminded her. The only thing she enjoyed reading happened to be the muggle books she was brought up on. A night of falling asleep to her mother’s voice reading the tales of Sherlock Holmes stuck with her through adulthood. Cracking open her Sir Arthur Conan Doyle books with the worn-in spines felt more comforting than any tabloid could.

   Pansy still couldn’t believe that. “So you’ve been living under a rock?”

   “Actually, I live in a flat.”

   They exchanged smiles before closing in for another kiss. There were five minutes left on their break, and they were going to use those minutes in their entirety.

   On the other side of the fortunately very thick closet door, Harry was pacing the halls. Healer Pye, after giving him a wary look and no doubt thinking something foul about him, had pointed him in the general direction of where the medi-witches tended to hang around on break.

   This ‘under the radar’ business was really starting to gnaw at Harry’s already thin nerves. It made him feel like he was back in Hogwarts, sneaking around in his invisibility cloak. That used to give him a rush, but considering what he had gone through in those old halls, the memories felt tainted.

   Harry was on the verge of giving up and coming back at another time—since going to Kingsley wasn’t an option anymore—when Pansy emerged from behind a door all the way at the end of the hall. What he didn’t notice was the woman trailing behind her, smirking like she knew some secret that the rest of the world remained clueless to.

   “Pansy!” Harry called down the hallway.

   Within a few seconds, the flouncy brunette had bid goodbye to her companion and made her way towards Harry.

    “To what do I owe the honor?” Pansy asked playfully while simultaneously fixing the creases in her medi-witch robes. Even when strangely disheveled, she still had that Parkinson charm.

   Harry shifted his weight to his other foot, trying to physically feel out some kind of balance in the situation. “Do you have somewhere a little less…? Public? To talk?” he tried.

   “Oh Salazar, is it about how Theo is going out again with that jailbait of his? See, I think we should stage some kind of intervention—“

   “No, er, definitely not about that.”

   She wasn’t at all catching on to his serious demeanor. “Do you want to talk about honeymoon ideas? Because I know this place uptown that has some fantastic toys, high quality and all that. Draco would just _love_ it.”

   “No,” he said quickly, shaking his head. “That’s not what I—“

   “Then what is it, Harry? I will only slack off at work for the sake of juicy gossip or the planning of shopping trips.”

   Harry was at the end of his rope with this case; so much so that he felt his grip on his sanity loosening right then and there. “Fine, Pansy. I’ll go shopping with you whenever the hell you like, but I need to ask you some questions first. Official questions.”

   Finally, Pansy seemed to understand. “This way,” she murmured, trying not to show how her face had darkened.  _Stay calm, Parkinson, stay calm_ …

   He nodded and followed after her, keeping up with her brisk pace. They weaved in and out of hallway traffic until they reached an employee lounge on the East side of the hospital. Pansy ducked her head in first, making sure nobody else was sitting in the powder-blue lounge. It was supposed to be for the nurses who helped deliver babies, but thankfully they were all busy.

   “What is it?” Pansy questioned, having not even taken a seat on one of the couches. She was hoping it would be over with quickly.

   “Maybe you should sit,” he said softly.

   “I'm fine, Auror Potter.”

   He frowned at the title. As much as he didn’t want to have to interrogate Pansy Parkinson, it was part of his job; Harry’s responsibility to the wizarding world that he could never quite cast off. “Where were you yesterday afternoon?”

   “At home,” Pansy lied.

   “Could anyone confirm that?”

   “Blaise could,” she told him. After having rehearsed her alibi in the mirror for a half hour, she saw that the practice was coming in handy.

   Now that was a new development. From Draco’s complaints, Blaise and Pansy rarely got along on their own. “Are you aware of what happened at the Crabbe’s house in the states?” Harry questioned. He could tell by the nervous line across her forehead that she wasn’t telling him something.

   “No. What happened?”

   “It burnt to the ground,” Harry told her, very careful to gauge her reaction.

   She put on a surprised face, but it really was horribly acted. “Really! Oh, my!” Her dramatics were her downfall.

   “Pansy,” he warned. “This is your last chance to tell me the truth about why you were there.”

   “You have no proof I was there,” Pansy snapped, attempting another shocked face.

   Harry dug the locket out of his pocket and held it up to the light. The emerald spun accusingly in the blue room. “Then do you want to tell me what this is?”

   Her mouth ran dry. “It’s—Sort of, you know, er.”

   “Yours?”

   Pansy let out a sigh. “Yes, it’s mine.”

   “What was it doing in the Crabbe house? It was one of the only things that didn’t burn.”

   “Harry, please, I have to go to work, you can keep the damn thing if you like—“

   “I don’t care about the necklace,” Harry said exasperatedly. He found it strange that it had even been offered to him more than once in twenty-four hours. “I just want to know why you were there. The Ministry doesn’t know I'm here, Pansy. Tell me what happened.”

   She finally flopped down onto a periwinkle couch. Pansy had picked up the nervous habit of twirling her hair from Maggie. Harry took a seat next to her, and listened to her recount her harrowing tale of trying to valiantly put out a strange, sudden fire. She explained that old houses got freak fires _all_ the time.

   After Pansy finished exonerating herself through an elaborate set of deceptions she made up entirely on the spot, she thanked Salazar that she had been able to fine-tune her lying skills in Slytherin. “…So then Blaise and I ran, and never looked back. You have to understand, we’re just trying to help you out and honor Vince’s memory.”

   “The Auror department doesn’t need any help, Pansy.” Harry wished that held a little more truth. They were no closer to catching Matilda than to shutting down the entire Death Eater underground. “You could have gotten hurt.”

   “Just because I haven’t gone through training doesn’t mean I'm not perfectly capable of defending myself,” Pansy retorted.

   “Still. Why don’t you just tell the Aurors where to go? Are there any more houses you’re keeping a secret?”

   Pansy pursed her lips together before speaking. “We’ve searched the six we know about, and nothing was there. No furniture, no food, no people.”

   “ _Six_?” Harry said in disbelief.

   “We were trying to help!” Once again, it seemed like a Pansy Plan had failed. They never exactly had the best track record, but this was a new low.

   Harry shook his head, dropping the necklace in her lap. “We’ll need all those addresses.”

   “Fine,” she murmured, turning the necklace over in her hands. Her gaze drifted to Harry’s. “We didn’t find anything, you know. We would have owled you if we did. All of only want to keep this quiet. Harry, you don’t know what it’s like.”

   He shifted on the couch. Being told he didn’t understand just didn’t sit right with him. “I’ve seen the way Draco’s family operates, and I know what the press does to them.”

   “It’s not the press, it’s the hate mail,” Pansy pressed on. “The defiling of the graves, the protests outside of our ancient, family homes… I'm not saying that Matilda shouldn’t face the law for what she’s done, but I'm saying that you need to be careful.”

   “I will be careful,” Harry assured her, leaning forward.

   Pansy surprised even herself when she reached out and took Harry’s hand in hers. It almost reminded him of Hermione. A ruthless, conniving, flighty, petty, loquacious, and surprisingly caring Hermione. “Thank you.”

   “We’ll find her.” 


	27. Entrance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every death requires an entrance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the reviews! Also, I'm pretty sure if you make a word doc of just my author’s notes, it chronicles my descent into insanity. You guys are the best for sticking by me during it!

**Chapter 27: Entrance**

   It felt like someone had removed all of the bones from Remus’ body and put them back in the wrong places. Either that, or just replaced them with gravel.

   In his recollection of all the many, many moons past, this one was really up there. To make matters worse, he was pretty sure he was still outside. Not that Remus would even dare to open his eyes. Even without trying to, the smell of wet leaves seemed to drift towards him. All in all, it was disgusting.

   A soft rustle of leaves followed the scent, and Remus waited for the familiar feel of a blanket around his broken body. He always felt terrible that Sirius had to see him like this. Padfoot would scold him for being so self-conscious around the man who loved him most in the world, but Remus would only shake his head at him. It still felt wrong.

   When for some reason he couldn’t feel a rush of fabric over his scar-torn legs, Remus felt his heart sink. What if his legs were broken, or there was nerve damage, or—

   Remus’ inner panic was interrupted by a sharp squeak from his right. He gratefully found that his legs actually could move when he scrambled up to get a look at what exactly was going on around him. It took his blood-shot eyes a few minutes to adjust to the summer sunlight, but when they did, he found something he was most certainly not expecting.

   “Professor Lupin!” the girl gasped, trying to cover up her own bruised body.

   It struck Remus that he was her teacher only a few seconds later. Naked, and alone in the Forbidden Forest with a first year student. That certainly wasn’t how he’d planned that day to go. Trying not to emotionally scar her more than necessary, he quickly moved to cover himself up.

   Without the leaves in her brown bob and the caked blood on her arms, he recognized her as Olivia Cross. A first year Ravenclaw who was spending the summer in the castle, and apparently had a furry little problem very similar to Remus’.

   “Don’t worry, I'm gay!” Remus blurted out, hoping it would at least comfort her to know she was exposed in front of a man who had only ever seen a woman—Lily Evans— naked once, in James’ bed, entirely by accident. He had actually covered his eyes with his hands. “So, you know, I wasn’t looking. Here.” He wandlessly cast a spell to knit the surrounding leaves into a blanket for her. In his post-moon confusion, it was sloppily made, but still functional.

   Olivia quickly latched on to the damp blanket and wrapped it around herself. “I know,” she replied in a hurry. “I mean, I know you’re gay. I just didn’t know you were… Erm. Like me.” Even though it couldn’t get him fired anymore, Remus liked to keep his lycanthropy close to his chest.

   He nodded, fashioning a blanket for himself. In all his years of teaching, he’d prided himself on never having pushed a student out of their comfort zone. Leave it to the wolf to mess that up. “Oh. Well, I am. I'm not just running around the Forbidden Forest for fun, I promise you that.”

   That seemed to calm her a little bit, and the blanket probably helped. If any of his teachers had ever seen him that exposed in Hogwarts, he would have had to move to a deserted island and throw himself into a volcano.

   “I'm sorry,” he said. “I usually never find anything out here, I thought it was safe—“

   “It’s fine. I'm fine,” Olivia cut him off, eyes wide. Nothing like seeing your Defense Against the Dark Arts professor without any pants on in the morning to wake you up. “The only other, uh, werewolf I know was the one who bit me.”

   That hadn’t even crossed Remus’ mind. “Who was it?”

   “I never got her name,” she admitted. “It was before I came here, don’t look so worried.”

   Had he looked worried? That probably was fitting of the moment. “I'm sorry,” he tried again.

   “It isn’t your fault.” Olivia moved to prop herself up on a nearby tree, keeping a death grip on the makeshift blanket. Remus could hardly blame her for that.

   “I know, but it’s still awful.” She hardly knew the half of it. Remus had lived with it since he was a child. The wolf had grown older and more ferocious with each year. “And you’re so _young_. I'm so, so sorry.”

   Olivia looked like she couldn’t help but agree. She closed her eyes and let out a breath that seemed to make her whole body weak. Remus knew that pain like the back of his scarred hand. He could see blossoming, fresh scars on her arms and knew that her skin would look like his one day. It made him feel sick.

   After a moment, Olivia seemed to have pushed through the pain. Her shock seemed to have faded along with it. “How do you do it?” she asked, her eyes still closed.

   “Month by month,” he answered honestly. The only other werewolf, aside from Greyback, he’d met had been while Sirius was in Azkaban. Remus had quite literally run scared. He’d thought he had been the one who bit him, and that shook him to his core. A month later, the man had finally been able to tell him that the man was bitten by someone else.

   “But _how_?” Olivia repeated, hungry for some kind of guidance. “The scars, the transformation, everyone wondering where you are?”

   Remus’ knees felt shaky, but he tried to shift up to her level. “You never do it alone,” he said solemnly. “Never let yourself be without a support network. Look, we’ll tell Madam Pomfrey, and she’ll be able to heal you. We’ll tell McGonagall and she’ll excuse you from certain classes. When I was your age, I had a group of friends who helped me every moon. They became animagi.” Remus tensed up at the memory, knowing that one of those friends had died young, and the other had betrayed them.

   “I'm not telling you to do anything illegal,” he reminded her. “But you need help. Transforming alone… It’s the worst. What about your parents?”

   Olivia shook her head. “Long gone.”

   The influx of orphans after the second war had been overwhelming when Remus had come back to teach. The population that stayed over the summer had nearly tripled in size, which had led to Headmaster McGonagall’s opening of the school all year long. In a disturbing way, he was reminded every day of what could have happened to him in the height of Voldemort’s reign of terror. “I'm sorry about that, too.”

   “Professor Lupin?”

   “Yes?”

   “You apologize a lot.”

   Remus gave her a thin smile. “Somebody needs to.”

   “Moony!” a yell came from the brush as the shape of a dog shifted in a man. “What in the _hell_ was that? Running off with some little wolf-thing! I want a divorce. Not from you, but Padfoot wants one from the wolf. You really need to tell that bugger what the fuck is good for him because—Oh. Hello.”

   Sirius tied his bathrobe shut and carefully examined the predicament he found his husband in. “Sirius,” Remus breathed with relief.

   “Here,” he said as he tossed the blanket that he’d originally meant for Remus. Instead, Moony handed it over to Olivia. “Hi there, sweetheart.” Sirius was always good with Remus’ students, even when they were standing naked in the woods. “I would shake your hand, but I figure you need those to hold the blanket up. Let’s get back to the castle, hm?”

   “I have my clothes by the edge of the forest,” she told him, grateful for the soft fleece that replaced her leaf garb. It was intimidating being surrounded by two older men in the forest, but they grew more trustworthy in her eyes every second. At least they weren’t total strangers. “I'm Olivia.” It felt strange to have not introduced herself.

   “And I'm Sirius,” he said with a grin. Sirius had seen enough of Remus post-moon to know what an exhausted young werewolf looked like. “Sirius Lupin.” He offered his hand down to Remus and he took it, shakily standing up next to Sirius. “Such a bother that we had to meet like this. I assure you that I look much more put-together after a night of sleep.”

   “Hardly,” Remus snorted.

   Sirius would have shoved him if Remus didn’t look as beaten up as he already did. “My Remus tells lies. All sorts of lies.” At that, Olivia broke into a smile. It was all in the way Sirius looked at her professor when he saw him on the ground. Not with pity, not with shame… It was almost, in a strange way, pride.

   “Actually, he’s my favorite teacher.”

   “You and me both, kid,” Sirius said with a smirk.

   “So,” Remus started, feeling his head begin to work again. “Let’s find your clothes, and get to Madam Pomfrey. She’ll know how to fix us up.”

   Carefully drawing away from the tree, Olivia’s bare feet followed the two out of the woods.

******

   “Finally.” Harry leaned back onto the lounge chair with a content sigh. “Something we actually agreed on.”

   Draco rolled his eyes. “We agree on lots of things. You just happen to be allergic to wedding planning. I could always ask Theo to come up with some kind of potion solution for that…”

   “I am not allergic to wedding planning! Call me crazy for being glad that we have the same taste in music.”

   The magical record player sat on their coffee table stocked full of the music for everything from their ceremony entrance to their last dance. It had been a Christmas gift from Remus and Sirius, since their knack for joint presents hadn’t faded in the slightest.

  Draco accio’d his checklist, which had begun to grow infamous with his fiancée. It contained every last chore and errand that needed to be run. “Music, check,” he announced happily. Lists had to be the best thing to ever enter Draco’s life, second only to Harry. They both were sleek when dressed up, transparent, and had never betrayed him.

   “The music at Ron and Hermione’s wedding was fun,” Harry murmured, still in his relaxed position on the chair with his feet dangling.

   “ _Fun_? It was hokey. I have never used the word ‘hokey’ until now. Look at what you’ve done to me.” Draco dramatically flopped back onto the couch.

   Harry shrugged. “The mother-son dance and father-daughter dances were entertaining. You have to at least admit that.”

   “Quidditch is entertaining. Our wedding will not be Quidditch,” Draco informed him. “And could you actually imagine a mother-son dance?”

   “Vividly.”

   “I hate you,” Draco laughed.

   With a lax smile on his face, Harry slipped out of the chair and crossed over to their white couch. He straddled himself over Draco’s reclining body, earning an appreciative noise from him. “I could see it, though.” Harry pawed down Draco’s chest, resting his chin on him. “Your mother wearing some green dress dripping with black lace, and you in all white twirling her across the dance floor. She’d love it. And as for the father-daughter dance...”

   “Whose side are you on?” he mumbled into Harry’s temple.

   “Yours, of course.”

   Draco busied himself with twirling a piece of dark hair in his fingers. “Liar,” he teased.

   “I would never lie to you,” Harry told him, leaning into Draco’s hand.

   The light twirls grew into soft caresses. “I know you wouldn’t,” said Draco. “You’re my little lion cub.”

   Apparently, he wasn’t out of the woods just yet with teasing. “Knock it off,” he laughed, giving him a playful swat.

   “Oh? You can call me that, that _name_ —“ Drakey, the unspoken Nickname That Must Not Be Named, along with Dray, Drake, Draconis, and any other horrid variation of his perfectly dignified name. “—And I can’t call you something that barely resembles Harry?”

   “Try another pet name,” Harry offered.

   “What, like Harold?” Draco laughed, knowing that wasn’t even his full name.

   “Definitely no.”

   “Harriet?”

   “Maybe if I needed a drag name,” Harry shrugged. He was definitely not opposed to throwing on a skirt once and awhile, but it’d never been in public.

   “I'm not calling you ‘baby’,” he informed Harry.

   “There’s nothing wrong with that nickname at all,” Harry insisted. “I have no idea why you’re so adverse to it.”

   “It sounds like I'm talking to a child. When has anything intelligent been said where the recipient was called ‘toddler’, or ‘kid’?”

   Harry could think of a few muggle references for the ‘kid’ one, but he doubted Draco would properly appreciate them. “It doesn’t have to be intelligent. It’s supposed to be informal and in an affectionate manner.”

   As he mulled it over, several more names popped into Draco’s mind. “Sugarplum? Honeybee? Would you prefer something cloying that refers to your bum in an informal and affectionate manner?”

   Harry laughed into his chest. “No, no. Lion cub beats that any day.”

   “Exactly,” Draco smirked; finding his track recording on being right that day was impeccable. Not that it wasn’t impeccable other days, but sometimes nobody took notice. It really was a tough thing to go through, in Draco’s most humble opinion. “Now please tell me you were joking about the mother-son dance.”

   It hadn’t occurred to him that the comment would get under Draco’s skin. He was always finding out about stuff like that after the fact. “I don’t know,” Harry said. “I would be doing it if my mum was still around.”

   “Your mother, fortunately, is not my mother. As much as I enjoy making conservatives angry, I draw the line at incest.”

   Harry gave him a pinch in the side. “Tell that to your ancestors.”

   “Oh, believe me. I’d have a few more things than ‘stop having sex with your cousins, it’s making us look bad!’ to say to them,” Draco mumbled. Most of those things included why he had to go into those damn crypts all the time.

   “You have to admit your mother would love it.”

   “But what’s the _point_ to it?” Draco asked, clearly caught up in thought.

   “Family unity? It’s ‘tradition’, you know? That thing your parents like so much.”

   “If this was a traditional marriage, you would be a woman twelve years younger than me and I would have bought you for a dowry of thirteen cows,” he pointed out.

   Putting on a face of mock-offense, Harry crossed his arms on Draco’s chest. “I am worth at least _fifteen_ cows.”

   “My apologies, fair lady.”

   “And I'm not a lady,” Harry reminded him, motioning to his very flat chest.

   “Ah,” Draco nodded as if it was the first time he was noticing that. “A queen, then?”

   Harry laughed. “Why does this keep coming back to me in drag? I am actually, believe it or not, a man.”

   “Wait!” His pale face was aghast. “You mean to tell me that I’ve been shagging a man this whole time!”

   “Of course! I’ve duped you, obviously. It’s the homosexual agenda aside from burning bibles and converting children for amusement,” Harry told him with a smile. He loved being able to joke about all kinds of dark, political things with Draco. Once again, he found himself overjoyed with a similarity. The sort of similarity that outweighed their differences by far.

   “That must be why you came out to Sirius, then. He gave you the gay. It’s rather communicable.”

   “Not sure who you got it from,” Harry mused. “Did you read too many Oscar Wilde plays as a child?”

   A laugh bubbled up in his throat. “Actually, my father bought me a whole collection. The works he made for muggles and for wizards. It was all very high-end, considering my father didn’t know how queer Wilde was.”

   “You’re kidding me,” Harry chuckled.

   “Oh, how I wish.”

   “I love these bizarrely posh recounts of your childhood. Be sure to let me know when you remember any.”

   “Oh, Harry,” Draco sighed. “Not posh, _pureblood_. It’s a strange, strange world. You’re marrying into it on _purpose_ , you realize.”

   He could honestly care less. Even though Draco’s worst fear was becoming like his parents, Harry had absolute confidence that would never happen. “The man I'm marrying happens to be worth the trouble.”

   Lighter than a feather, Draco’s lips ghosted over his cheek. It was the kind of kiss Draco gave when he was thinking, when Harry was waiting patiently and contently. “Have I ever told you about how Blaise got his first blowjob at Pansy’s cotillion and my father walked in on it?” Draco asked.

   “That sounds like a nightmare,” he said before going into another fit of laughter. “Who in their right mind would have sex right where your father could see?”

   “You tried to just yesterday!”

   “I didn’t know the door was unlocked,” he admitted. Maybe Harry had gotten a little too used to living on his own with Draco. They never had to lock doors or quiet their moans.

   Draco shook his head and gave him a peck on the lips. “Nutter.”

   “Maybe that could be my pet name.”

   “Anyway, I was trying to tell a _story_ ,” Draco reminded him.

   Harry nuzzled up against him on the couch. “Right, of course,” he said as if he had committed some terrible crime. “A thousand apologies.”

   “Fuck you,” Draco huffed.

   “No, really. Do you need some tea for your throat? You know how hard it can be for you—“

   “ _Anyway_ ,” Draco cut him off, not willing to take any more of his sass on the matter. “Astoria Greengrass was practically begging for his attention all year, so she corners him in Pansy’s room…” Draco went on to explain the whole story from the act itself to the punishment inflicted on the both of them. Harry felt himself getting sleepy, but he laughed at the rights time and nodded at the right times, knowing how upset Draco got when he didn’t listen.

   Most of the time when Harry tuned out, it was because he was happy enough with the moment as it was. Lying on Draco’s stomach, feeling it rise and fall along with his heart beat under his pale skin, was more than enough for him. It made Harry wish he had Draco around during the war. He couldn’t seem to think of a problem in the world when he was in Draco’s arms.

   They eventually transitioned to the bed, staying late into the night talking about the wedding. It was almost a month away, after all.

******

   On the other side of town, Pansy’s worst fears were coming true. It was a weekend, and she was working. In short, she was becoming more like Hermione Granger than she had ever cared to be.

   “Incoming on dock three,” her handheld announced. Really, it was Maggie’s handheld, but that didn’t seem to make any difference. Unlike muggle technology which Pansy often shunned, the communication systems at St. Mungo’s were entirely magically run. All a Healer needed to do was zap over a message and the proper people would hear.

   Since she was one of the only medi-witches on shift—even Maggie had turned in early that day—Pansy sped off into the blindingly white walls. She was really going to have to talk to someone about changing that color.

   When she turned the corner of the children’s ward and out of the hospital doors, dock three stood empty except for a single figure. “Oi!” she yelled. “Patients can’t use the teleportation circles unless guided by hospital staff.”

   As she stomped down to give the man a piece of her mind, she saw blood dripping from his arm.

   Pansy had lost her sickness for bodily fluids long ago. “Come with me,” she said, offering an arm for support. There really should have been more medi-wizards there…

   He shook his head, clutching his left wrist tightly. “No, they shouldn’t have sent _you_.”

   Offended, Pansy crossed her arms and gave him a signature glare. “What, do you have a problem with a woman treating you? Only weak-minded men are intimidated by that, you know—“

   “It’s not about your sex, Parkinson,” he growled. His raspy voice felt like sandpaper in her ears. He wasn’t much to look at, either.

   However, Pansy wasn’t surprised he knew her name. Her last Daily Prophet scandal had happened just a few days ago when they caught her at a club with Maggie. ‘ _Parkinson Heiress Gets Down and Dirty With Unknown Woman’_ had to be her favorite article title yet. “Come with me,” she repeated, using her wand to help him move forward a few steps.

   She expected him to let out a cry of agony like most patients did when they sustained such heavy injuries, but he remained strangely silent. Judging by how much red was sloshing down his arm, this didn’t look good.

   “If you would let me levitate you, I could bring you to Healer Pye—“

   “No!” he yelled, recoiling at the suggestion.

   Having had quite enough of this nonsense, Pansy took matters into her own hands. She cast a few mending charms on his red-streaked skin. Strangely enough, the blood seemed to keep on coming. “Did you hurt yourself on something magical?”

   “You’re ruining it, you stupid girl,” he hissed. “It’s not blood, it’s a message.”

   “In blood?” she asked skeptically, raking another cleaning spell over him. What it revealed made her own blood run cold.

   Dark, angry red lines made their way across his left forearm to make a symbol every man, woman, and child in the wizarding word had come to know. A hissing snake coiled itself around a hollowed skull, with carvings that went much deeper than a tattoo. However, they weren’t the source of the blood. A small vial now empty of its blood-red contents was fastened to the top of his arm. “Ah, so you still recognize this. All of the ones during the war were so… Temporary,” the man lamented. “It’s good to know that the mudblood hasn’t drained your respect for our kind entirely.”

   Pansy could barely manage a proper noise of shock, simply letting the man’s arm go and backing up. Fake blood that had fallen onto her A-line skirt trickled off of the edge.

   “You weren’t supposed to be here, dear Pansy.” She knew that voice. It was somewhere back when she was a child, buried in a chest of memories—“It was supposed to be that mudblood. Tainting the nobility of your heritage… Can’t you see it, child?” He held his hand up in a fist under the dock lights. It stretched the scabbed skin so that the red Mark almost glowed under the stars.

   “This is nothing but a special effect, no need to look so shocked. My real blood runs as yours does: thick and full of ancient magic. You are a daughter of the first wizards, and look at what they’ve done to you. Look at what they’ve done to the Malfoys. Their filth and bile has contaminated our once-sacred line.”

   It shocked Pansy that she could even speak after that. “Why are you here?”

   “For the mudblood,” he said, whipping out his wand. “Don’t you recognize me, dear niece? It’s your Uncle Regnum. Regnum Selwyn, son of Sidus. The last of my name, just as you are.”

   “ _Why are you here_?” she repeated.

   “For the mudblood, of course,” said Regnum, baring his yellowed teeth in a smile. “This is the first strike.”

   Suddenly, all the pieces fell into place for Pansy. Adrenaline coursed through her body like it had when she burnt down the Crabbe house. “Petrificus Totalus!” she roared, sending a burst of blue light from her wand.

   Regnum rose to his feet and redirected the spell towards a wall as if it were a second-year’s disarming charm. Whatever the red liquid had been, it caked around his old and scabbed over Dark Mark. “Do not think I am opposed to striking one of my own kind. You’re half of the problem.”

   Figuring ‘the problem’ was the usual set of pureblood complaints; Pansy sent a stunning spell his way. Once again, it was perfectly deflected.

   “Pansy Parkinson, I will give you one last chance. Where is the mudblood?”

   “What the hell has Maggie ever done to you?” she demanded. It seemed like she would have to use her skills of persuasion to get herself out of this one, since her battle magic was terribly undertrained.

   Regnum let out a laugh, his black robes shaking with him. “It’s what she’s done to you, dear niece. The Madam and I have to start somewhere. To take down a body of corruption is just like slaughtering any other body. First, you must find an entrance point if you want to go for the kill. Second is the core, to throw off your opponent and leave them disoriented. Third is the head, rendering it incapable of functioning. Fourth is the heart, more of a symbolic death than anything. Killing the heart assures the destruction of a body in its entirety. When someone dies, their ideas and their hope lives on. Harry Potter may have destroyed our Dark Lord’s core and soul, but the heart of his followers can regroup.”

   Pansy tried to think of something clever to say, but even her skills of charm seemed to evade her. Referring to Tom Riddle with the phrase ‘heart’ usually described his lack of heart.

   “Tsk, tsk, tsk,” he scolded. “It looks as if my sister has been far too lenient in raising you. If you were any daughter of mine, you would know your place.” He came closer and closer to her with each step, until she was backed up against the hospital walls. “Can’t you see you’re disrupting the order of wizarding life? Working at this cesspool of _mixed_ blood... Using that valuable little twat of yours to screw around with strangers instead of producing heirs for your family... Your disobedience is astounding.”

   She could feel his rotten breath on her neck. “I—“

   “Know your place,” he snapped. “A pureblood lady never speaks unless she is spoken to. Have you lost all sense of common manners and decency?”

   “Have you lost your fucking mind?” she returned in a knee-jerk reaction.

   To her relief, Regnum took a step back as if he had been struck. Pansy took that as her cue to bolt. She ran toward the door before his hand coiled around her wrist.

   “Matilda was right,” Regnum scowled. “There is a way in through those who betray our cause. How would you like to be step one, blood traitor?”

   _Blood traitor_. Those two words echoed in Pansy’s mind. Ever since she was a little girl, she knew it was the worst thing she could ever become. A _blood traitor_. Her mother’s voice came back to haunt her. _A pureblood woman will marry a pureblood man, she will keep her line clean, and she will keep and watch over household for her husband, be dutiful, and raise children, and always leave food on her plate when she eats_ …

   Pansy saw only one way out. There was no savior through persuasion, and no savior through combat. The only thing she had left was her Slytherin cunning. Focusing all on one spell, she shot a strong, loud, “Expulso!” at the wall behind them.

   The wall crumbled like sand at the explosion, casting Regnum off of her and propelling herself into the hospital. Or out of the hospital? Wait, was she still moving? Was that the streetlight or a ceiling light?

   Pansy heard a crack of apparation as footsteps and voices crowded around her. The voices rang along with her ears—“…trauma to the cochlea, possibly a damaged malleus…”—and she could feel herself be levitated into the air.

   “Possible head injury, unidentified blood…”

   _No!_ she wanted to yell. _It’s him! You can’t let him get away!_

As the levitating sensation stopped and the voices rose in volume, Pansy let out a silent scream.


	28. Emergency

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emotions, and those sort of things. Very big emergencies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this one took 5ever, and I apologize for being one of those people who makes a fic and then puts off updating! These scenes have been cooking in my head for quite a while. Thanks so much for 30,000 views on fanfiction and 2,300 on AO3!

**Chapter 28: Emergency**

   Harry got the owl at seven in the morning.

   Well, he got five owls at seven in the morning. One from the hospital, one from Lucius, and three from Kingsley.

   Draco, having been rudely awakened from his sleep by something other than Harry's damned alarm, was in even more angry than usual.

   "Someone better be fucking dying," Draco grumbled, giving Harry's bare back a shove.

   In response to the pushing, Harry was stirred from a dream about a talking grumpkin with Hermione's voice, telling him that he needed to study if he wanted to pass his NEWTs. "The NEWTs were _years ago_ , I passed them!"

   "What?" Draco asked into Harry's shoulder, still lacking the motivation to open their window and let in the veritable collection of owls.

   His emerald eyes finally snapped open at the sound of claws scratching at the glass. "We have an owl."

   "We have several owls. And apparently, you're taking the NEWTs. Does that make me a pedophile?"

   Harry rose out of their caramel bed to get a better look. Even with the grog of morning in his bones, he managed a wandless unlocking charm. "No," Harry said slowly, as the owls poured in. "It makes you viable for reality television."

   "It's too early to talk about muggle _television_ ," Draco complained, rubbing a sore temple. Wedding planning really was weighing down on him, so he stayed firmly cemented in his position on the bed. "Who are these from?"

   "Not sure." Harry lured in the closest owl, a regal grey. "Your father," he sighed, handing the letter to Draco. When the blonde refused to reach his hand out and accept the letter, Harry laid it across his face.

   Draco groaned and Harry wrestled with the flock of birds. Once they were all fed and done with, he sent them back.

   "Three from Kingsley," he said flatly.

   That piqued Draco's interest. "What do they say?" As he sat up, the letter fell from his face. It revealed his sleep heavy eyes that slowly filled with concern.

   Harry ripped the first one open from his boss and the fatalist deep within him jumped to the worst conclusion of Kingsley finding out about his off-the-book investigation. To his surprise, it only contains four words.

   _Potter. Get here._ Now.

   As his theory became a frantic worry, Harry opened the other two Ministry labeled envelopes. They didn't contain much more information than the first, just urgent commands from Kingsley that he needed to _'get his arse out of Malfoy's hands and into the Ministry_ '. His choice of words never went unappreciated.

   "I have to go," Harry said slowly, carefully.

   "More saving the world business," said Draco in a monotone voice, arching an eyebrow.

   "I know we have to do the fitting with the flower girl and ring bearer—"

   "You are _not_ leaving me alone with _children_! It's the weekend!"

   "Sorry," Harry told him, giving him a quick kiss. Draco barely returned it, giving him an icy stare as Harry put on his black uniform.

   "I really don't see what the rush is." Draco ripped open his letter from St. Mungo's with a quiet sense of shock. Someone had called him as their emergency contact. It escaped his memory that he was anyone's emergency contact... Ron was Harry's, considering when Harry and Draco were married then there could be two people at his side. Plus, Ron had sworn to his best mate to tell Draco in the unfortunate case that Harry found himself injured.

   Once Harry was fully dressed, it seemed Draco had to be on his way as well. But he'd be damned if he let Harry walk away entirely free of a guilt trip.

   “What time will you be back?”

   “Not sure,” Harry said as he strapped on his boots. “I’ll try to be home before dinner.”

   “You owe me.”

   “When don’t I?” He gave him a lopsided grin before leaving the bedroom in favor of grabbing a bagel before running out.

   A sigh escaped Draco when he sat up in their bed all alone. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Lucius’ words haunted him about Harry’s job being too dangerous, too unstable, too demanding…

   Speaking of his father, Draco looked down at the two letters Harry hadn’t torn open in his mad dash for the door. He opened his father’s first, considering it was too early in the morning to incur Lucius’ wrath. Using his wand, Draco sliced open the envelope.

   After scanning through the usual flowery introduction of the letter, Draco got the meat of the message. _We need to talk._

Great. As if his day wasn’t already out of sorts, now his father wanted to _talk_. The last time they had done that had ended up with Lucius forgetting his birthday, and being guilted into accepting Harry in the place of a gift.

   “Fuck,” he muttered, scrawling out a hasty reply that as much as Draco would _adore_ a conversation with his father, it would have to wait until after dinner.

   The letter from the hospital, which he quietly begged wasn’t telling him to come into work on a weekend, wound up somehow being even more distressing.

   “Who in the hell would have _me_ as their emergency contact?” he laughed, looking down at the owl requesting his presence at St. Mungo’s. Harry’s was still Ron since once they were married Draco could legally visit him if he ever managed to get himself hurt. Again. Being a member of staff at the hospital certainly didn’t hurt, either. Draco’s emergency contact was Theo, and he had never even in been a life-threatening situation where the other Slytherin needed to be called in.

   He sincerely hoped it wasn’t an insane fan of Harry’s before he dragged himself from the fading warm of the bed, got dressed, and apparated.

******

   “Wait, so he wanted to _kill_ Parkinson’s girlfriend?” Ron asked, mouth agape.

   “Luckily, we were able to get a statement from Ms. Parkinson when she was conscious,” Kingsley informed them, leaning back in his cushy office chair. “And the woman in question has been placed under Ministry protection.”

   Without even knocking, Harry burst in the door looking disheveled. Harry had almost splinched himself when he realized that he’d need to apparate, and the Ministry halls had been especially crowded when he needed to sprint to Kingsley’s office.

   “Well, Auror Potter, how nice of you to join us.”

   “Sorry,” Harry said quickly to Kingsley and Ron both before grabbing a free dark wood chair facing his boss. “I was asleep.”

   Kingsley raised an eyebrow, as if he somehow doubted that story. “I’ll let your tardiness slide, since it is the weekend. But I believe you should know about a development in your case.”

   By the time Kingsley had finished filling Harry in on the incident at St. Mungo’s, his jaw was practically at the floor. “Is Pansy alright?” he asked in a panic.

   “Don’t worry, Healers say she’ll be just fine. The explosion only gave her a few cuts and a bad case of shock. Our partner in crime, on the other hand, probably suffered damage. We’ve alerted all hospitals in the area that Selwyn may show up at their door. I doubt he would go to a muggle hospital, but I’d rather be safe than sorry,” Kingsley told them.

   “So what can we do?” Ron asked. Somewhere very deep in the recesses of his mind, a part of him was itching for some real fighting action. Being partners with Harry was a dream come true considering how much they had worked together back in school, but there were some drawbacks. The only real complaint Ron had was not being able to take on anything serious or undercover, knowing that Harry would be recognized in an instant. Plus, the Ministry was very wary of having reporters follow around their officers of the law.

   Kingsley leaned forward, folding his hands together on his desk. His royal blue robes were custom-made, since he couldn’t stand the solemn black of the Auror department. It made him feel like he was at a year-long funeral. “You’ll have to make sure they aren’t in any of the Selwyn family homes.”

   Ron and Harry let out a groan in unison.

   “More house patrolling? That got us close to nowhere last time,” Ron complained.

   “The only real hint we got was what the composition of the spell was, and we can’t even get a counter-curse for it,” Harry reminded him.

   “Then what do you suggest we do?”

   They exchanged unsure looks before dropping their gaze down to the floor. A sprawl through decrepit old pureblood mansions just didn’t sit right with either of them, especially since someone’s life had been on the line this time. Break-ins and homicide were entirely different beasts, and their crime duo seemed to be evolving fast.

   Insecurities aside, their silence spoke volumes “Exactly,” Kingsley said, his dark eyes giving them both a vilifying look. “But first, you’ll need to make another visit to Ms. Parkinson. Perhaps since knows where her uncle may be hiding.”

   Ron laughed. “I doubt it. Her extended family includes at least half of the wizarding world.”

   “We should still try,” Harry objected in hope that Pansy somehow had something to offer. Since she’d been so eager to help the case earlier, maybe this was her shot at really lending a hand.

   “You’ll have to do a little better than ‘try’. I'm up to my neck in howlers on both sides, and Skeeter had to be forcibly removed from the building when she found out you were on the case.” Kingsley’s jaw hardened at the mention of her, considering how much trouble she’d caused them in the past. He certainly wasn’t happy about keeping his two best Aurors on busywork cases, but he also wasn’t happy that their current case had taken them right back into the public eye.

   Knowing that Kingsley in a snit over casework was never a good start to a day, Ron and Harry promptly left his office behind them after a round of polite goodbyes.

   “How’s Hermione?” Harry asked as they walked towards the fireplaces of the entrance hall.

   “She’s alright, taking the potions and everything. It’s too early to tell really anything about the kid, though. And Draco?”

   An excited man and woman noticed Harry was making his way down the hall and waved frantically at him. Harry waved back out of habit before realizing they were just fans. “Angry with me for having to leave when we’re supposed to be meeting with a tailor for Victoire and Fred Jr.,” Harry sighed.

   “Yeah, you two will work it out in some weird sex dungeon way.”

   Harry wondered if he had been better off with Ron in the dark about his love life.

******

   “Why in the hell am I your emergency contact?” Draco demanded, barging into Pansy’s hospital room.

   “Hello to you too,” she replied bitterly. Much to her dismay, she hadn’t even got a chance to properly fix her hair before Draco came storming in. Just because Pansy trusted him with her life didn’t mean she liked being seen out of makeup.

   “I saw your chart, and you’re just fine. Tell me,” he said with a bizarre conviction, sitting down in the chair next to her bed.

   “Why, yes, my concerned and wonderful friend. I'm just fine, thank you.”

   Draco could care less how he had offended her. “ _Why am I your emergency contact_?”

   “Why are you being such a prick?” Pansy countered. She wasn’t having the best of days, and her comebacks reflected that.

   “Because I saw your chart, and you’re not permanently damaged. On top of that, I am your emergency fucking contact!”

   Pansy put her head in one hand. Another Draco wedding stress-related meltdown was not what she needed. “Do you really want to know why, Draco?”

   “No, I came in here looking for your soufflé recipe,” he said sarcastically.

   “For one,” Pansy snapped, crossing her arms. “My chocolate soufflé recipe is absolutely divine. You should be as lucky as to one day encounter an ingredient. Secondly, well, isn’t it obvious?”

   Either Draco was missing something, or Pansy had taken a harder fall than the Healers thought. “No.”

   A look that seemed close to shame crept over Pansy’s unglamoured face. “Who else would?” she asked softly. “Do you think Greg would drop a date with Abbott to be here? Or that Blaise would spring free of work to my rescue?”

   “I'm not here to rescue you.”

   “No, but you’re smart,” Pansy continued. “If we’re going by brains, that leaves you and Theo.”

   “Why not Theo?”

   Pansy really wished she hadn’t revealed so much to him. Trusting Draco was second nature, and it often got her into all sorts of trouble. She dedicated a few moments to gnawing at her unglossed lower lip and putting words in the right order before answering. “Theo wouldn’t know when to give up,” Pansy murmured.

   “What?”

   “If I was ever on life support, or in a vegetative state, or some awful shit… You would know when to cut me off. You would be able to.”

   When Pansy looked up to see her friend’s reaction, it was worse than she had feared. Draco looked so pale he was almost sickly.

   “Draco?” she asked softly, trying to search for some verbal response.

   “You’re wrong,” Draco mumbled. Malfoys weren’t supposed to let their emotions give them away. Malfoys were supposed to keep a level head, and keep a trick up their sleeve. For some reason, that advice wasn’t working in the ‘emotions’ department.

   “About _what_?” Pansy challenged him. Seeing Draco this upset about a form she had filled out when she was eighteen didn’t make sense to her. He was simply the most rational person she knew, that was all. When she had written down his name, she imagined him free of that sentimental garbage. Maybe she had been wrong… But it was probably his residual stress from wedding planning, and Harry not being around, and—

   Draco rose from the chair. “I have to go. Emergency avoided, Panda.” For some reason, the nickname sounded weak and feeble out of his mouth. “I have to go fit some fucking kids into some fucking formal wear.”

   Before she could protest, Draco was out of the door.

   In fact, he was out of the hospital only seconds before Ron and Harry arrived.

   Everyone from employees to patients gawked at The Boy Who Lived, and their eyes probed for the legendary scar. Luckily, Draco liked Harry’s hair a little on the long side. Not fourth year long, but close. “I keep telling you, Ron, my bachelor party will not have strippers—Pansy!”

   The haggard witch stopped in her tracks. Pansy would never otherwise be seen dead in a hospital gown, but these were extenuating circumstances. “Harry, where is your fiancée doing the fitting for the kids?”

   That was probably the last thing he was expecting Pansy to ask.  “Er,” Harry started. “Are you alright? Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

   “Fuck that,” she announced promptly, waving her wand to build a changing room around her. Ron had a face full of the pale blue hospital gown before he could even realize what was going on.

   “Parkinson—“ Ron started.

   The dark outline of her shadow behind the beige changing curtains slipped on a much more form-fitting dress. From the other side of the curtain, it was her signature pink with ruffles obviously included. “Not now, Weasel.”

   Bristling at the nickname, Ron threw her discarded clothes to the ground. “We’re not here to visit. We happen to be on Auror duty to be keeping you and your girlfriend safe.”

   Pansy stepped out of the changing room and Vanished it, and even Harry’s jaw nearly dropped. She had gone from reminiscent of an asylum patient to her usual socialite glimmer in only seconds. _That definitely has to be a spell_ , Harry thought, since he knew better than to say it out loud.

   “Maggie is safe at the Ministry, is that correct?” Pansy asked innocently, her heels clicking on the tile floor as she walked towards the door.

   Ron and Harry fell in line behind her. “Parkinson, that still doesn’t answer any of our questions.”

   “Yes, but you’ve answered mine. I already gave my statement to your boss, so you should probably get working on where my uncle is,” she snarked, regaining her strut seamlessly. It was as if her first steps had been on a runway rather than across a carpet into her nanny’s arms while her father was busy with paperwork. “Now I’ve got a Malfoy to trace down. You know how that can be, Harry.”

   “Definitely.” Harry finally caught up to her and tried to match her wide strides. “But we still have to interview you, you realize. It’s sort of our job.”

   Pansy stopped her beeline when they reached the opposite side of the street. “You can after we deal with Draco,” she informed him, looping an arm through Ron and Harry’s. “Oh, don’t look so scandalized, Weasel. I'm apparating,” Pansy chastised.

   Before Ron managed a proper protest and before a pack of Harry’s fangirls descended upon the three with cries of “Harry, we love you!” they felt a compressing force surround them. Harry had never really gotten used to side-along apparation, but he was doing even worse since it was unexpected.

   When they arrived in front of the door to Draco and Harry’s penthouse apartment, the brunette man was out of breath. Ron also found himself doubled over trying to catch his breath.

   “Mental, this one is,” Ron gasped out, regaining his footing. “Completely mental.”

   Either Pansy didn’t hear over her fist pounding on the white door, or she was ignoring him. They were both equally likely. Harry had to hold his head for a moment to stop it from spinning. Carefully, he checked for Splinching. By the time it seemed all of Harry’s eyebrows and fingernails were in place, Draco had opened the door.

   Ten years ago, a gussied-up Pansy with two Gryffindor Aurors panting behind her would have been cause to slam the door shut, and he reflected for a moment on the many—possibly ill-advised—life choices that led him to open the door and let them in to the room already full of Weasleys.

   “Uncle Harry!” Fred Jr. shouted, running to his disoriented family friend. “Guess what? I'm the ring-bearer!”

   Harry scooped him up, giving a wave to all the adults in the room. Angelina was in her usual post-practice sweats, while her husband was dressed like he was about to run off to his shop at any given moment. On the more glamorous side of the room Fleur had on a flowing white maternity blouse, belly full with child, which matched Bill’s crisp white shirt.

   “Don’t run in the dressrobes, Fred. I think you just gave Uncle Draco an aneurism,” George smirked, looking over at the distressed blonde.

   “I am nobody’s ‘uncle’,” Draco murmured to himself, moving to get his own grip on the dark-skinned boy. For some reason, Harry’s pass off the child to his fiancée was practically without error, much to both of their surprise. “Thanks, love. Now, what exactly is going on here?”

   “I need to talk to you,” Pansy said seriously, betraying her rather frivolous look.

   “And we need to talk to Parkinson,” Ron muttered, getting a few sympathetic looks from his various relatives.

   “And my dress fits!” Victoire announced as she walked out of the bathroom, speaking with that ever-so-slight French accent she had picked up from her mother. Her white satin gown was emblazoned with crystals that captured even their living-room lighting. Even the tiny tiara on her head had a glow about it in the low lights.

   Bill stood with his mouth agape, seeing his little princess the spitting image of her mother on their wedding day. While their own ceremony had been ruined by Death Eaters, Draco and Harry’s reception was like to end much differently. “Victoire!” Fleur chirped happily, running over to her daughter. “You look beautiful.” While her English had improved, her accent stuck with her.

   “She does,” Draco said after a moment. Harry could practically see his silver eyes calculating measurements and checking for alterations.

   “Our kids really are little models,” Angelina boasted proudly. George was very inclined to agree.

   “Draco, I really need to talk to you—“ Pansy tried.

   “Uncle ‘Arry! I love it!”

   “’Harry’, sweetheart,” Bill tried, a little exasperated. The novelty of the French twist on their words seemed to fade with time. “It’s with an ‘H’.”

   “Parkinson, you aren’t getting out of here until we get another statement.”

   “Weasley, I’ll deal with you and Harry later,” she sighed, prying Fred from Draco’s arms and handing him over to his mother.

   “You’re in a room full of Weasleys, Parkinson,” George reminded her. “You’re going to have to be a little more specific.” His urge to turn to his twin looking for a reply was another habit that had died over the years as well.

   “The Auror Weasley,” Pansy clarified.

   Fed up with the amount of people in his _personal space and breathing his air_ , Draco decided the burden of ending this madness had fallen upon him. “Alright, here’s what’s going to happen.”

   The whole room looked at him skeptically before Draco asserted his authority once again. “Angelina, George, Fred, you get those robes off and hang them up. Make sure you don’t wrinkle them. Bill, Fleur, Victoire, measure that hem and make sure it’s perfect. And I mean _perfect_. Pansy, whatever you have to say can wait until my husband-to-be finishes his job. Everyone understand?”

   “Yes,” they mumbled, moving to their own separate tasks.

   Draco, in the meantime, made himself a cup of tea. Mostly because he deserved it, having to deal with this lot almost every day of his life.

   Once Victoire’s skirt had been properly extended, Fred Jr.’s dressrobes steamed, and Pansy’s brain picked about her dangerous encounter that she appeared to move on from remarkably fast, Draco was the bottom of his cup of tea.

   For a moment, everything was at peace and going along with schedule. Draco could close his eyes and hear wedding bells ringing, and this whole mess of schedules and menus over with.

   When he opened his eyes, Victoire and Fred Jr. were seeing how fast they could spin around the kitchen and were knocking into almost every cupboard in sight. He reached out his hand and made a little distressed noise before Harry guided them back over to their parents.

   “Thanks so much,” Harry said politely, ushering them out of the now very crowded penthouse. “We’ll see you soon!”

   “Bye-bye!” the kids shouted, with several other goodbyes from their parents that were a little more grown-up.

   “And then there were three,” Harry said ominously.

   The reference sailed right over Ron, Pansy, and Draco’s heads. “Draco. Bedroom. Now,” Pansy demanded, crossing her arms.

   “That didn’t work in fifth year, and it won’t work now,” Draco warned her playfully.

   “ _Draco_ ,” she whined.

   “Fine.”

   As the two vanished into the master bedroom, Ron and Harry exchanged confused looks.

   “Slytherins,” Ron offered with a shrug.

   Once inside, Draco crossed his own arms over his green shirt. After a day full of confusion, he was eager to get some clarity—but he wasn’t about to let Pansy see that. Pansy, however, had let her guard down. The confident mask she had put on before had melted away to nothing, leaving only her exhaustion. In a bright pink dress, of all things.

   At the sight of her vulnerability, Draco unwillingly softened. “What is it?”

   “I imagine, for what happened at St. Mungo’s… Normal friends would apologize. Because that is what normal friends do.”

   “Apologize for making me your emergency contact?  Look, Pansy, it’s fine, I'm just really stressed—“

   “That’s not it,” she insisted. “If we were rational, mentally balanced people, then I would feel some sort of thing—“

   “Yes, right, an emotion,” Draco grinned, happy to play along with her train of thought.

   “About implying that you’re less caring than Theo. Obviously, this poofy wedding nonsense has proved me wrong.” Pansy’s gaze dropped to the floor. “One of those things, yes. I would feel, you know, the one where you’re sorry.”

   “Ah, that one.”

   Pansy nodded, hoping that was acceptable enough. Usually, their fights were drunken, petty, and forgotten the next day. Morning-after apologies were never needed.

   “I suppose I would feel the one where I'm all forgiving and slightly apologetic for being stressed out enough to lash out at you,” Draco mumbled.

   “Normal friends would hug,” Pansy suggested.

   “Don’t push your luck.”


	29. Core

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting to the core of things, while the Death Eater strikes at the core.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love writing from crazy pureblood’s point of view. It’s so much fun, mostly because they’re wrong about everything. Thanks for the faves, reviews, and follows! I love this story.

**Chapter 29: Core**

   It was really a wonder that Draco had any energy left in him whatsoever. Harry kept saying Draco reminded him of some character in a muggle play that was always taking bubble baths to avoid the world. Draco shrugged it off, insisting that he simply avoided certain aspects of it. Plus, bubble baths never hurt.

   Only after having pushed Pansy out of the flat was Draco confronted with the reality that he had to go pay his father a visit. The two had probably talked face-to-face more in the last few months than in his entire Hogwarts school years.

   “You’re coming with me,” Draco decided.

   “To laze around while you talk to your father?” Harry asked from the bed. The dinner he and Lucius shared might have smoothed things over about the wedding, but Harry knew the more he pried into his current case, the more he upset his future father-in-law.

   Draco shrugged. “You could always feed the peacocks.”

   “Last time, one bit me.”

   “They _are_ my father’s patronus,” he said with a smirk. That didn’t stop them from escaping Draco’s general averse attitude towards animals, but the puffed-up albinos often reminded him of his father when they lashed out when people got too close. “You’re coming anyway.”

   “I imagine protesting wouldn’t do much,” Harry sighed, closing his eyes for a moment of calm before a doubtless storm.

   “If it makes you feel any better, we’re taking the floo in.”

   Harry raised his eyebrows. “We’re allowed to enter the Most Honored and Sacred Fireplaces? Without fear of tracking mud?”

   “I know,” Draco said excitedly. Usually, the Malfoy wards were up to keep out visitors so that the only way they would be harassed was at the door, which they made Gerda answer. Since the manse was so infamous in the war, young witches and wizards were always cropping up to try and graffiti the renovated Malfoy home. Most ran away once the peacocks charged.

   After Draco led him to their fireplace, he took the floo powder to give Harry a handful. “Malfoy Manor!” Harry shouted before tossing the powder down. He had gotten better at annunciation since the first time.

   Thankful for a system of travel that allowed them instant access to the Malfoy house, the two strangely enough stepped into a room Harry didn't recognize. Not that he was an expert on Manor affairs, but this was one room he certainly would have remembered if he had ever seen it before.

   Hermione would have loved it. There were books, tomes, and scrolls as far as the eye could see. Harry couldn’t quite tell how they were organized, but it seemed to have some system of order. Some books were even flying around, rearranging themselves. The scent of bound leather and long-worn pages made the shelves feel a little cozier.

   "Welcome to the Malfoy library," Draco said with a small smile once he saw the look on Harry's face.

   "It's huge," he breathed. The mahogany shelves wound like serpents through a green plane of a carpet. With the white dome over their head, Harry felt like he was a yoke inside a giant eggshell. Carefully, he brushed his fingers over the cracked spines.

   Draco wrapped an arm around his waist. "Supplied and managed by Talia Malfoy, née Nott." The rumors that she 'entertained' her husband's sisters in the library had been refuted for years. Draco decided he liked the story, though. It finally gave Theo and him some history they could appreciate.

   "And now everything the light touches is yours," Harry grinned. He tried to think of the equivalent to the elephant graveyard as his eyes scanned over the works in every language from Latin to Chinese. Some of the books even had metal-dusted inlays. The titles 'Siempre Puro' and 'Död av Magi' glittered under the overhead candlelight.

   As usual, Draco had no idea what Harry was referencing. "How true. Anyway—"

   "If you can't find it, then I am perfectly capable of finding someone else," Lucius snapped from behind a closed white door at the end of a twisting bookshelf.

   Harry turned around in Draco's arms to look at the door, confused.

   "That's the study," Draco shrugged. "Father's probably dealing with some neanderthal who wants more of our art. Or maybe even the books.” Harry wasn’t satisfied with that explanation, especially from what Lucius seemed to be asking for.

   "Master Malfoy, it's an impossible task," another unrecognizable voice said. Harry could hear fear in the voice.

   "Then I will _find someone else_ ," Lucius decided. On the other side of the door, the Malfoy patriarch was in a regular snit. He had gone out of his way to find a man capable of getting him what he wanted, and now he was failing him?

   "Sir, nobody will be able to get it! How do you even know it's still there?"

   Draco thumbed through some book titles, entirely accustomed to his father's way of dealing with employees and those who disappointed him. His fiancée listened in, not really caring if Lucius caught him eavesdropping. It was in his Auror blood.

   "An incredibly reliable source gave me this information. But it doesn't matter. For your failure to give me what I want, you're released from service."

   "But Master Malfoy! I really need this money—"

   "Then see yourself out, and _find it_."

   A scrawny-looking man weaseled out of the study door, only to come face to face with Draco and Harry. His tight black robes were out of place in the summer heat.

   Once Lucius realized the man was still there, he interrupted the standstill between his ‘employee’ and his son. “ _Out_ ,” Lucius repeated, trying to avoid eye contact with Harry. He looked like he had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, and it only furthered Harry’s suspicion.

   Draco, on the other hand, could care less. “Hello, father. I know I'm a bit late on responding to your owl, but you’ll have to forgive me. Wedding planning has been getting in the way lately; which is also why I brought my groom-to-be.” In his cool, calculated words lurked the heir to a fortune and a blood line that was at one time destined to rule the wizarding world itself.

   After having been completely ignored by his employer’s son, the man scurried off to the fireplace before Harry even got to ask a question. He cursed himself for being so trusting.

   In a heartbeat, Lucius regained his composure. “I expected you a little later in the day, actually. _You’ll_ have to forgive my business transactions,” he said calmly. “It’s actually fitting that Harry is here.”

   “What?” Harry asked, surprised. The noise escaped from him before he could stop it, and now all eyes were on him. “Oh. That’s good, then. Excuse me if this is blunt, but what exactly was that business transaction? That man looked a little…”

   Draco put his head in his hands. Harry and his damned mouth, always getting them into trouble.

   “Terrified?” Lucius asked with a surprisingly calm demeanor. “That is the way you deal with people in relation to the Manor. If you hope to be married to my son long enough to inherit it, I’d advise you to pay attention.”

   “ _Father_.”

   Lucius softened under the frustration of his son. Two steps forward and one step back was always the way Harry and he related to one another, but Lucius could tell that it was a source of stress for Draco. “Now, if we could get to why I asked you to be here…” He turned back into his study, motioning for them to follow. “It’s actually in relation to your upcoming marriage.”

   That made Draco feel infinitely better. Little did he know what was actually waiting for them as they entered the study.

   “Yes, well. Your mother has been going on about that _muggle_ phrase—“ He spat out the word as if it singed his tongue. Narcissa had done a little more than ‘go on’ about the phrase, but Lucius wouldn’t admit to being coerced by his wife. “’Something old, something new, something borrowed, something...’”

   “Blue,” Harry finished with a cautious smile.

"Right," Lucius mumbled, coming very close to rolling his eyes. "Narcissa has insisted we supply it for you, to help. So, we found something back in the archives that we haven't used since Draco was born."

   Interested, Draco perched himself on Lucius' desk. The study was decorated similarly to the library, adorned in Slytherin green. The only differences were the chair and desk, and the fact that this eggshell dome was smaller. "And what would that be?"

   "Something old," he said before depositing a dusty, speckled brown book on the desk.

   Harry and Draco both leaned in to get a look. Carefully, they both wiped away the dust from the cover to reveal the name.

   Lucius stepped back, trying to gauge their reaction.

   "Star charts?" Draco asked, voice hushed.

   "Open it," Lucius told them.

   Once Harry opened the heavy leather bindings, a world of stars poured out. They filled the study, blowing out the candles and glittering along the dome ceiling. Spindles of ethereal thread tied together constellations, showing Canus Major and Sagittarius in all their glory along a darkened sky.

   It took Draco a moment to speak, and when he did, it was hardly eloquent. "Woah."

   "Look," Lucius said, pointing up. "The book reflects the stars that are in the sky at any given day, any given moment."

   "This is fantastic," Harry breathed, all thoughts of the stranger gone. "Thank you."

   Lucius was about to say it was only the best for his son when Draco interrupted. "Why this?"

   "What?" Lucius asked.

   "Of all the books in the library, as ancient as they all are, why this?" Harry couldn't tell if Draco's tone was curious or angry. Maybe a mixture of both.

   Lucius put his hand on Draco's shoulder. "I imagined you could use it in the future." It didn't ease Draco's concerns any bit.

   "Father."

   "What is it?" Harry asked, confused.

   "What do Sirius, Regulus, Orion, Andromeda, Bellatrix, and Draco all have in common?" Draco asked calmly.

   "They're all in your family?"

   "They're all named after stars," Draco corrected. "Very subtle, father."

   "You may need it one day." Lucius was sure his son would need it one day, but he wasn't about to say it out loud.

   Slowly, Harry saw what Draco was talking about. Arcturus arched over Scorpius, while Ashlain, Altair, and Tarazed glowed brightly. Harry realized why his fiancée was so upset. All of those stars were names of children he was to have. Names for the babies that Draco wasn't sure he wanted. His whole life, forced to carry out a bloodline and carry on the stars.

   Harry slammed the book shut, ending the magic. The candles regained their flame. "Thank you," he said again, trying not to seem as rigid as he felt.

   Draco's hand found his when he hopped off of the desk, and Lucius realized this was going in the exact opposite direction that he had intended.

   "Draco, it's a gift. It doesn't mean anything—"

   "Look, I'm just— I'm really stressed out right now, okay?"

  "Draco," Lucius sighed. "I know, and I could help." Saying an ‘I'm sorry’ was beyond his emotional ability, but he really was trying his best.

   His son shook his head, still clinging tight to his fiancée and looking sufficiently shell-shocked. "No, I've got it. Look, thanks for the book. It's nice."

   Most of all, Harry felt guilty for not being there to help plan his own wedding enough. "I'll try and get off from work tonight," Harry tried. "We could talk menus."

   "They need you for work. Especially with what happened to Pansy," Draco told him, eyes full of a strange compassion. "We can talk some other time."

   Harry frowned, but took the book in his hand anyway.

   He was so distracted with feeling guilty that it felt like seconds later he was back in his flat, alone with the book in his lap.

******

   "I," Maggie began. "Am going crazy."

   "You and me both," muttered Kingsley, relaxing back into the chair opposite from the fiery-haired woman.

   She rested her chin on her hands. "I don't want 'Ministry Protection' if it means being cooped up here. I went to school; I know how to cast proper defensive spells."

   "We have it on reliable intelligence that Selwyn's magic is too powerful for any normal civilian to handle." He had originally come to give Maggie her breakfast, since the last Auror attendant had accidentally walked in on Pansy's visitation and declared themselves in need of a sick day.

Kingsley had seen enough bizarre office romances, though most involved Draco, to be prepared for the strangest of circumstances.

   "What makes you think I'm a 'normal civilian'?" Maggie questioned, irritated. "I'm a medi-witch. I can probably cast a better healing spell than you, and you're in line to be Minister."

   Kingsley gave her an appreciative smile at the last part of her statement. "You're probably right about the healing spells part, but I'm Head Auror. We all have different skill sets."

   Maggie gave him a trying look. Clearly, he was resisting her wheedling to get out of this damned room. Sure, it was all hardwood floors and comfy couches, but it wasn't nice enough for her to want to waste away in. "I think I've maintained enough defensive knowledge."

   "Then would you like to demonstrate that?" Kingsley had seen Auror trainees beaten bloody from training and exam techniques, but citizens loved to try to 'prove their worth' as well.

   "Yes," Maggie said boldly. "I would. Up for a duel, Shacklebolt?"

   His eyebrows shot up. This one had to be barking mad. "I wouldn't want to hurt you."

   "I know healing spells, like you said. If you win, I've got a skill set."

   Kingsley Shacklebolt hadn't had a by-the-book, friendly duel in years. It almost made him consider it. "How about no pain? Just disarming."

   Maggie's lips spread into a grin. "Even better. What are your terms?"

   "Terms?"

   "Mine are that if I prove to you how powerful I really am by disarming you, and then you let me go on my own leave."

   When Kingsley entered his Head Auror position, he had no idea that he would be striking deals about the safety of those he was trying to protect. Oh, how things had changed. Mad ex-Death Eaters were running around on his watch and all Kingsley wanted to do was take a nap.

   “Well?” Maggie asked, drawing her wand.

   “I cannot release you myself,” Kingsley said carefully. “But I could put in a good word on your dueling skills—if you win.”

   Maggie was close to correcting the sentence to ‘when’ she won, but even she knew not to anger the Head Auror before facing him in battle. “Three paces to start?” she asked, watching him rise from his chair so that the blue robes he wore fell around his ankles.

   Kingsley nodded in agreement before turning around, listening for Maggie’s footsteps on the ground. When she turned, her flats scuffed against the wood.

   Their eyes locked across the holding room, the buzz of the outside Ministry seeping in through the walls. Hopefully, Kingsley would be able to keep it quiet enough so that all the workers in the building didn’t overhear their scuffle.

   “Three,” they both said at once, taking cues from one another.

   “Two.”

   “One!”

   “Expelliarmus!” Maggie cried, only to have Kingsley avoid the spell completely.

   The man shot a weakened stunning spell at her, only to have Maggie deflect it with her wand. Eyes locked, they circled the room.

   “Expelliarmus!”

   “Flipendo!” There was a hollow crack as a nearby couch splintered.

   “Protego!” Maggie countered, sending away the slivers of wood.

   After several rounds of trying to disarm one another, Kingsley realized he was very out of practice. His last case had been tracking down a group of rogue vampires in Korea when even Harry had been too busy to help. Actually, Harry had been busy with training, since it was bloody years ago. He wiped the newly-formed perspiration on his forehead.

   Spells fired back and forth, the walls of the room lighting up blue, red, and yellow. The colors danced along every surface, flitting across the room. A few more minor explosions went off, and it was clear that they were closely matched. Kingsley had experience on his side, but Maggie had an unpredictable fire.

   Kingsley furrowed his brow in concentration, trying to anticipate her next move. “Alarte Ascendare!” she roared, sending the ascending spell towards Kingsley.

   Instead of having it hit the Head Auror, he deflected it towards the table. As a result, the table vaulted up towards the ceiling and hit it with a metallic crash. Momentarily distracted by the noise, Kingsley felt his wand fly out of his hand.

   Within seconds, his Auror reflexes kicked in and the wand was back in his hand. However, the duel was lost. When Kingsley looked to face his opponent. Maggie was more ragged than usual, her hair sticking up in strange angles and her breathing heavy. It made him wish he’d never agreed to any kind of terms. She was talented, but not undefeatable.

   Even so, his pride had taken a beating. Kingsley had been spending too much time behind a desk. Maybe he was better suited for that Minister business, after all.

   “Don’t worry about it,” Maggie said, dropping her offensive stance. “It’s not the first time I’ve dealt with Death Eaters.”

   Kingsley nodded solemnly, before reassessing the statement. “How old were you during the first war?”

   “Nineteen. I was done with school when I had to go into hiding. The last thing I wanted was for my parents to get hurt, so I practiced in secret. When Death Eaters took over the neighboring towns… Well, let’s just say they didn’t get mine.” The sparse amount of Death Eaters was probably to blame for their fall, but Maggie had cast spells until her throat ached from screaming. It didn’t matter now, because she got through it.

   Maggie was never a stranger to adversity, and as a queer, muggle-born woman she knew it was never far behind. One day, she’d hear cat calls on the street from men cruising in a car, and the other, she’d have to fight back against a patient who didn’t want a ‘mudblood’ taking care of them. It only made her skin thicker.

   “Be careful,” Kingsley insisted. “We can’t hold you against your will, especially when I made a deal with you, but relinquishing protection is dangerous. I have to know you understand the consequences.”

   “I understand.”

   Kingsley nodded, and started to repair the furniture in the room.

******

   Regnum’s eyes were on the target. Multiple targets, in all honesty. He cared nothing for a few kids that were bound to get in the way.

   “I didn’t know that other people couldn’t see them,” the boy remarked, turning to his teacher. “I just thought thestrals were like normal animals.”

   “Only those who have lost an important loved one, and come to terms with the death, can see them,” Lupin told them. Something in his voice told Regnum he didn’t enjoy explaining that to a couple of minors under his care. He would spare them, Regnum decided. They looked pure enough, and maybe they’d breed one day.

   The Black family line, on the other hand, would never reproduce again. The trouble began with that ungrateful filth, Andromeda. She left her boundaries, and wound up making a child with a man who had never once cast a spell. Then there was Bellatrix. She had married like a good little pureblood girl, but the years of inbreeding had made her gratefully infertile. Her brand of psychosis would never do. Narcissa had done her duty as well, but Regnum could not stomach thoughts of the heathen she’d birthed. Knocking out his partner in crime had been one of Regnum’s greatest pleasures.

   On Walburga and Orion’s side, two perfectly respectable Blacks, things were even worse. Their youngest seemed promising at first, but after his betrayal to the Dark Lord and eventual death, that link was worthless. The only remaining Black was Sirius. And his story had to be the one that angered Regnum the most. Sirius had chosen to fuck and marry some _half-breed_ , the scum of the earth whose true form was revealed during the full moon.

   “We should name them,” the boy decided. “Every creature needs a name.”

   “We can talk to Hagrid about that,” the professor said with a smile. “I'm sure he’d love seeing someone take an interest in them.” They walked towards Hogsmeade, Remus having once again been talked into having lunch with his students.

   Regnum shifted back onto his haunches behind the thorned brush. Just a few steps closer and Lupin would be in firing range. This time, Regnum wouldn’t let his target get away. Madam had caned him mercilessly for his disappointment. Of course, he accepted every blow humbly and promised he would obey.

   “Have you been practicing?” Remus asked, Regnum only getting bits of the fragmented conversation. He had no care for what their last words would be.

   “Of course!” Alex chirped, pointing his wand at a nearby bush. “Flipendo!”

   Without warning, Selwyn felt himself fly backwards as thorns scraped his face. When his skull hit a nearby rock, he was seeing stars.

   Remus couldn’t quite articulate his surprise. “Stay here,” he told his students, rushing to see whoever it was that had been lurking in the bushes. “Are you alright?”

   “Hurm?” Regnum said, reaching for his head.

   “Wow,” Olivia remarked. She and Alex hadn’t even slightly obeyed their teacher. Not when there was childhood adventure to be had. “I think he’s got more scars than you.” In reference to the fresh thorn scars, of course.

   It made Regnum swell with anger, and he stumbled to his feet. “I am _not_ — I am not like him!”

   Cautiously, Remus drew his wand. He didn’t trust this man, and something about him was off. “Olivia, Alex, get _back to the castle_.”

   Alex was just about to protest when Regnum shot off a misguided stunning charm, striking the ground a few feet away from Remus.

   “Back to the castle!” Remus roared as he sent a hex towards the man, only to have it messily deflected. The last time he’d had to defend himself was the Battle of Hogwarts, and that time Padfoot kept trying to get the remote in dog-form.

   Regnum shot back a stronger jinx, and Remus stepped protectively in front of the kids who were apparently too paralyzed with fear to remember their sense.

   “Go!” he told them, his voice hoarse. Finally, Olivia took Alex’s hand and they broke off into a sprint.

   “Ah, what a wonderful role model you are,” Regnum teased. “I bet they’ll remember that when they’re at your funeral, telling everyone how brave you were. A regular Gryffindor.”

   Telling that the madman was beyond reasoning, Remus kept his mouth shut. His wand was at the ready, staring him down to see who would make the first move.

   “Oh, what? Wolf got your tongue?”

   “Get out of here,” Remus said through gritted teeth. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I will.”

   Regnum cackled, his mind now only set on avenging his brothers and sister and getting his Madam’s favor once more. “I'm shaking in my boots,” he smirked. And as much as he liked to see Lupin act all big and bad, he’d like to see him dead much more. “Avada Kedavra!”

   The spell missed, but the fear was there now. Whoever this man was, he wasn’t kidding around. Remus quickly fired a paralyzing spell, keeping light on his feet to avoid the attacks.

   “Crucio!” Regnum’s spell danced dangerously close to Remus’ left arm, causing his pulse to spike. Fear and primal instinct took over.

   As adrenaline pumped through his veins, Remus stepped forward with a “Crucio!” of his own.

   Finally, a spell connected and Regnum went stumbling back. Remus took a moment of relief in his Defense Against the Dark Arts credibility.

   When Regnum regained his footing and hurled a hex at him, they were back in the dance. They dodged each other’s blows left and right, until Remus saw a flash of blue at the corner of his eye.

   “Remus,” a woman called with a voice all-too familiar as she descended down the road to meet him. “You distract him, and then he’s mine.”

   Remus would have turned around to properly thank Headmistress McGonagall, but he knew there were more important matters at hand. For example, the rabid man in black trying to kill him. There always seemed to be one of those.

   It took him a moment to think of a ridiculous enough spell, but finally, he had one. “Tarantallegra!” Remus yelled, pointing his wand at the haggard pureblood.

   Regnum’s body felt more like a puppet. The strings were magic, and they hung above him as his legs flailed around in a swing dancing massacre. The bizarre charm was enough to catch Regnum off guard, and give Remus a little enjoyment from watching the man who tried to kill him moving his hips like he was in an old jazz club.

   Not missing even a heartbeat, Minerva cast her “Petrificus Totalus!” bringing him down to meet the earth. His vacant grey eyes stared up towards the summer sun, his arms above his head mid-dance.

   The two teachers slowly walked over to the fallen man, exchanging determined glances. “I think we should give two of our favorite former students a call,” Remus said, noticing the family crest on the man’s robe pocket.

   “Oh, Remus. We don’t have favorites,” Minerva teasingly reminded him with a glint in her eye before conjuring her patronus. The cat pranced around before disappearing, carrying the message all the way to Ron and Harry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you tell I hate writing battle scenes? Haha.


	30. Interview With a Pureblood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pureblood problems, as usual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you can’t tell, I like movie title puns. Sorry this one took extra-long, but because of hurricane Sandy my power was down for an uncomfortable amount of time. Also, four more years of Obama and two more states where I can get married in! I'm happy camper. Thanks again, everyone!

**Chapter 30: Interview With a Pureblood**

_“Harry Potter! Give me Harry Potter! Bring me the man who slew my Lord!”_

   Kingsley turned away from the two-sided mirror. In the interrogation room, Selwyn had finally quieted his screams for revenge. Slumped over the metal table and with his charmed chains keeping him down, he looked a lot less intimidating. His grey eyes still shot daggers at the wall, but otherwise Regnum was harmless.

   “Should we really send Potter in there?” the Minister asked, his wrinkles becoming even more creased.

   “Potter is more than capable,” informed Kingsley. “Finite Incantatem is in effect in the room, so Selwyn’s only real source of power is gone.”

   The Minister bristled in his heavy layers of coats and robes. Even in the summer, he felt thoroughly chilled by this whole case. “But, making Potter do the interrogation would only be giving a known Death Eater what he wants. The papers won’t be happy to hear about that.”

   “Then the papers won’t hear about it.” Kingsley had his ways. That, and Skeeter was banned from the Auror department in its entirety after an incident involving Draco, Harry, and a very misguided game of strip poker. “Whenever anyone who isn’t Potter goes in there, all they get are demands for the man himself.”

   “Then we’ll send him in?” Something about all of this gave the Minister of the wizarding world a belly ache.

   “Obviously. Potter’s been trained by the best.”

   His wrinkles of frustration turned to ones of curiosity. “Who exactly does our Auror interrogation training?” the Minister inquired.

   “I do,” Kingsley told him plainly, keeping his grin to himself.

******

   The gallery was flooded with light, but it was a careful sort of illumination. It made sure that no photo suffered any glare. The rosewood walls were dappled with yellow and orange detailing that had been done carefully in a matte paint. It formed vines and flowers along the walls that bloomed around each one of Colin’s photos.

   When he noticed Theo staring at walls, he smiled. “I have some friends in high art places,” Colin explained. “Dean Thomas, actually. Do you remember him from school?”

   Theo nodded. “Yeah, isn’t he with some other Gryffindor?” His memories of Hogwarts were most likely blocked out by a kind subconscious, but he wasn’t exactly snooping around for bits and pieces of the worst time of his life.

   “Seamus. I always thought they’d get married before Draco and Harry,” Colin told him offhandedly.

   After passing a frozen muggle photo of a busy London street and moving on to what looked like a nature reserve, Theo replied. “Then you’re clearly underestimating Draco’s need to never be shown up by anyone, ever.”

   “Right,” Colin laughed. “Merlin help the person who gets in the way.”

   “I’ll have to help him bury the body. Burdens of being the best man and all that.” Theo continued to walk along the wall of photos, hands behind his back. He wasn’t any art connoisseur, but these photos were impressive. They all had a flow to them, even though they weren’t moving.

   “Just be sure you don’t get caught,” he warned his boyfriend-type-dating-thing, which he really needed a name for. Unfortunately, Colin’s main problem with men in the past had been rushing things. Hopeless romanticism was his default setting.

   “I never have been in the past,” Theo joked.

   Colin laughed with that same little jingle he always had. In Theo’s humble opinion, the gallery was as gorgeous as the man who ran it. Those damned muggle jeans got him every time. “Then let’s pray that the Auror department never finds that abandoned lot where you hid all of them.”

   Finding Colin’s sick sense of humor was a strange delight. “I need more than one lot, dear,” Theodore grinned.

   “Glad you’re so prolific in your ventures.” Colin felt like he had struck gold in meeting Theo again. Even though he had a sneaking suspicion Draco had planned the whole thing.

   “Just like you,” Theo said in reference to the photos, bursting with color. “These are really fantastic.”

   Bashfully, Colin crossed an ankle behind his leg. “Thanks. It’s sort of been my life for this year. I wanted to capture the life of the city, mostly in candid shots. When people aren’t looking, that’s when they’re at their most real.”

   “As opposed to their most fake?” the Slytherin asked skeptically.

   Colin kept his smile but gave him a definitive nod. “People act different when they know there’s a camera there. It’s easier to blend into the background and observe.”

   “And what’s so worth observing about everyone?” Theo found himself growing genuinely interested. Usually, his view of the world was more black and white. Relationships always forced him into a grey area that left him wheeling for some kind of sense to grab onto.

   Apparently, that was just the question Colin was waiting for. “Everything,” he breathed, walking back to where Theo stood in front of a sepia photo of The London Eye. “Some people, you can read their eyes like maps. They show you where that person has been, what they seen. I suppose it’s cheesy to say they’re the ‘windows to the soul’, but they’re pretty close.”

   “What else?” Theodore asked, entirely unaware of how enraptured he was with Colin. It was that bright, animated look he got when he spoke about photography. After a moment, Theo realized that was passion.

   “The way people walk, and talk, and the way their faces look when they aren’t being self-conscious. That’s what I like. No fronts, no deceptions, just… Honesty.”

   “Honesty,” Theo echoed almost involuntarily. His limited amount of artistic experience was able to tie the photos together in his mind. One continuous, frank stream of how life was for the people around him.

   Colin nodded. “Real, human honesty. It’s sort of rare these days. That’s why I like you so much.”

   Theo had to clamp his teeth down to keep whatever kind of emotion was rising in him at bay. After a moment, he realized that wasn’t a very good idea at all. He wasn’t being honest.

   So Theodore Nott tangled his fingers in Colin’s hair and hauled him in for a messy kiss, letting that unnamed rush of joy fill him. The joy doubled when Colin kissed him back so eagerly.

   It tripled when they stumbled their way back to the couch in Colin’s office.

   But Theo wasn’t so sure if a number could really quantify how he felt in the bleary afterglow. Colin’s skin felt like sunshine, warming him on a cold winter’s day. Theo supposed it was appropriate that they had reunited during the summer. It made the chill in his bones melt and feel like it could maybe be gone for good.

   Finally, Theo found a phrase that came close to explaining it. “Vi veri universum vivus vici.”

   “Hm?” Colin murmured into his neck.

   “By the force of truth, I have conquered the universe while living.”

   Somewhere, somehow, Marcus Nott was rolling over in his cell cursing the day he let his only heir study Latin.

******

   To say that Harry was nervous was an understatement. Ever since Remus had come knocking to tell him the news, Harry’s stomach had been twisted into knots and he hadn’t even managed an appetite that morning.

   “Are you sure?” Draco had asked, offering him a piping stack of pancakes that, ordinarily, would have started a feeding frenzy.

   Harry had just shaken his head. “You could always freeze them. I’ll eat them left over.”

   The idea of leftovers made Draco’s head spin, and he had hardly ever allowed it with anything aside from restaurant food. As a boy, the house elves hadn’t fed him anything less than culinary perfection. Notions of having to package food and store it away like a couple of muggles had been a conundrum at first. “Fine.”

   So, there Harry was. In front of the interrogation room with a rumbling stomach and a looming sense of dread. All in all a pretty wretched start to the two-week mark before his wedding. Draco had even taken time off from work to make sure the weddings favors were made, champagne glasses were etched with their initials, tailoring done flawlessly, and everything was coming together seamlessly.

   In truth, maybe the wedding was a part of what was making Harry so jittery. That, and the convicted criminal behind the two-sided mirror waiting for him.

   “Potter,” Kingsley said sternly, putting a hand on his shoulder. “We don’t have all day.”

   “Right,” he murmured. To make things easier, Harry compared it to jumping into a cold pool on a hot summer’s day. At first, the water stung; especially on impact. The hope he held out for the eventual stage of acclimation to the temperature may have been the only part of the metaphor that failed him.

   Either way, Harry had to take the jump. He magically unlocked the door to Selwyn’s chamber, held his breath, and dived in.

   For a moment, everything was silent. It felt like water really was rushing into his ears to block out any noise.

   Soon enough, the quiet spell fell to ashes. “ _Potter._ You… You’re _the_ Potter.”

   “I wouldn’t have expected you to be so starstruck,” Harry said, trying to keep an intimidating air about him. Who he was in the interrogation room and who he was outside of it were separate men. In here, he was playing the part of a hardened Auror who never flinched at the mention of murders, mutilations, and trespasses against human life. At home, the images and words haunted him in his sleep until he woke up fitful in Draco’s arms.

   Selwyn sneered, upset that the imbecile had mistaken his shock. “I knocked you out once, Potter. I'm not starstruck.”

   The all-too unpleasant trip to St. Mungo’s was fresh in his mind, but Harry didn’t show it on his face. “Ah, yes. I remember. So I guess assault on an Auror will be attached to your charges.”

   It disturbed Harry to hear the man laugh. “Oh, yes,” Regnum grinned. “Among the charges of taking back what is rightfully ours from your breed of grime. You are a loathsome creature, one who killed the man who championed us and pretends to be a hero. You’re no more to me than your mudblood mother was to the Dark Lord.”

   Harry tried to stay steady, clamping his teeth shut so tightly that it started to hurt. He couldn’t lose control of the man. Not like this. “You seem to have a rather unnatural interest in those I care about,” Harry said coolly. “But that’s not what I'm here to ask you.”

   “Quite frankly,” Regnum bellowed, eyes mad. “I don’t care!”

   Harry wondered if he should have slipped in a ‘that’s obvious’ before Regnum spoke again.

   “This is all your doing, Harry Potter. Remember that in the days to come. You caused this,” he growled.

   Trying not to seem bothered by that, Harry sat down on the edge of the metal table. “I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, Selwyn, but you’re a few years late on avenging Tom Riddle.”

   His nostrils flared. “Don’t you dare say the name of my Lord. You scum, you heathen—“ Regnum tried to lunge at Harry, but the magical chains held him securely in place.

   “It doesn’t matter what his name was. He’s dead, and yes, I suppose that is my fault.”

   Selwyn shook his head wildly, face taut with pain. After writhing and reeling in the chair for what seemed like an eternity—muttering to himself about his Dark Lord—he regained his power of speech. “That is not what we have come to punish you for,” he said with a shiver.

   Somewhere deep within him was a primal sense of fear that would leave his black robes drenched in sweat once he left the room. Maybe that was why Aurors wore so much black. He’d have to tell Draco. “Who is ‘we’? Are you talking about you and Matilda Crabbe?” The idea of there being any more of them was too much to swallow in one sitting.

   “Stop,” Regnum screeched. “ _Stop changing the subject_!” His chains rattled with his every convulsion.

   “The subject is your crimes against the wizarding world, Selwyn,” Harry returned easily.

   “ _No_!” It took a couple of shuddery breaths for Selwyn to recover from that outburst. “It is about why you deserve this. You, Potter, are the core of the corruption. Every insignificant rebellion needs a poster boy, and when he dies so does their hope. From you stretches a thousand arms, like that of a great oak. You are the center, and if the center cannot hold…” With each word, he had grown quieter. In the end he wound up disintegrating into murmurs that Harry could have sworn were in another language.

   “If you’re not talking about The Battle of Hogwarts, then what are you talking about?” he asked carefully, trying not to call his ‘Lord’ anything offensive in order to avoid an explosion of anger. As much as Harry would have liked to call him ‘Tom’ as he usually did, he left his personal opinions at the door. It was just as Kingsley had told him.

_“The goal of an interrogation is not to ‘win’. You must put down your pride and always keep level-headed. Once you become angry, the criminal is lost. You cannot stoop to that level. You are the law of the wizarding world, and you must maintain it.”_

With Kinglsey’s voice still echoing in his mind, Selwyn answered him. “I am referring to your latest atrocity. It is a crime against all laws of nature and our society.”

   Harry furrowed his brow. “I don’t have time for metaphors. What’s made you so hateful?” Again, Harry left out the comment of ‘aside from a miserable childhood and being brainwashed by your parents’.

   A scowl spread its way across Regnum’s face. “Your—Your _betrothal_. It sickens me to even call it that.”

   “My— what?” Harry asked, entirely caught off guard.

   “First, you murder our Lord Voldemort. Then, to add insult to injury, you begin seducing one of his closest follower’s sons. His only son, at that. It ensures the end of the Black family line and the Malfoy family line. I'm sure you could never appreciate this, being a half-breed, but those two families once reigned supreme. You are ending an era, Potter—“ Regnum spit out his name as if it singed his tongue. “And now… You plan to enter into some unholy union and take away the most valuable pureblood of this time. You aren’t worthy of his bloodline, and two men cannot reproduce. It spits in the face of our tradition. So that… That is why we must put an end to your reign of terror. Along with all of the others who dare corrupt my brethren.”

   It all started to make sense. The attacks on Maggie and Sirius, the breaking-and-enterings… It all led up to a scheme that Harry could only make out the edges of.

   What he knew so far: Matilda and Regnum were in a two man operation. The root of their anger came from his upcoming wedding (as was Draco’s current state of emotional distress, but that seemed a little more unrelated). They developed a break-in spell that hasn’t been able to be countered by any security system.

   What he didn’t know: Where they were breaking in, where Matilda Crabbe was, and if anyone was safe with one of the pureblood maniacs on the loose.

   Entirely ignoring the fact that Harry had gone into his own world of concentration, Regnum kept talking. “The Potter line used to be pure as well. If you were a wench four-hundred years ago, this wedding would be a gift to both families. But this is after the death of the Dark Lord at your foolish hand, and you could never produce heirs. Unless there’s something you’re not telling everyone about.” When he smiled, his rotten teeth made Harry’s stomach churn.

   “Believe me, if that were true, The Prophet would have already gotten the inside story on it,” Harry said, jaw tight. It was becoming harder and harder to listen to Selwyn spew his complete and total bigotry.

   Regnum’s teeth made another special appearance. “Ah, yes. The great hero must have quite the following.”

   “That’s not what I'm talking about.” Harry could feel the wheel of control slipping from his hands, so he gripped on tighter. “We’re not here to discuss my unwanted fame—“ His grip clenched down even harder when Selwyn gave a little chuckle at that. “—because what I'm really curious about is the location of your partner. It’s simple, really. You two have broken the law.”

   “No law of man can stop what is to come.”

   “Not even a law of the wizarding Ministry?” Harry asked, unable to hold that little jab back.

   Selwyn’s laugh returned. “Not _these_ wizards. I am of the old blood of the first wizards. Their names were of the stars and their intentions pure. As are mine.”

   “What are you—“

   Control wasn’t even an option anymore. “When you see the bloodshed to come, Potter. I want you to know that you caused it. I want you to know—“

   “What bloodshed? What are you talking about?!”

   “The brainwashed public can absolve your guilt, but I will not.” Regnum tried to stand, but his chains held him down.

   Harry shook his head and took a step backwards. All thoughts of interviewing and getting answers about his other godfather’s near-death experience seemed to fade into the holding cell walls, turning to grey and joining the room.  “You can’t even pull off two attempted hits.”

   Each word backed Harry into the corner. “And you don’t even need to attempt to kill to get the job done. Who were those rats who died for you?” Selwyn smirked.

   “You shut up,” Harry hissed, stepping out his corner. “You shut up about them.”

   “What? Don’t like admitting that people died protecting you? How many was the final total? Was it in the hundreds? Oh, I hope it was—“

   “They died because Death Eaters like you ended their lives.” It was the same phrase Draco, Sirius, Remus, Kingsley, Ron, Hermione, and everyone had told Harry over and over again. _It’s not your fault, it’s not your fault, it’s not your fault._

   Selwyn shook his head as his raving swelled. “Would they have been there if it were not for you?”

   “No—I mean, Riddle would still—“

_It’s not your fault. It’s not your fault._

   “Don’t you say his name!” Regnum yelled again.

   “I killed him!” Harry yelled back, his voice echoing off the metal walls. “I killed Tom Riddle and I can call him whatever I want!” His nerves snapped like stretched rubber bands, one by one. Knots formed in his shoulders as he unconsciously went on the defensive.

   Regnum yanked so hard on his chains that the table scraped against the floor. “And that is why you must suffer,” he roared. Even his ears were red with rage when his whole face lit up scarlet. It reminded Harry of his Uncle Vernon. “You think yourself to be so high and mighty, but you’re no better than you believe me to be. We’re killers, Potter. Each for our own cause.”

_It’s not your fault. It’s not your fault. It’s not your fault._

   “Where the hell is Matilda Crabbe?” Harry launched forward and grabbed Selwyn’s lapels. “Where the fuck is she?! You’re murderers, you’re sick and you—“

   The faint click of an opening door was drowned out by Selwyn’s laughter. “You’re the murderer, and I haven’t killed anyone as of late. Do you think I would actually fail at ending the lives of two mutts? A distinguished pureblood taken down by two bottom feeders?”

   “Potter—“ Kingsley said, grabbing his shoulder. Alas, even the strong grip of a Head Auror couldn’t pry an angry Harry off of his target. In fact, the only one who even so much as stood a chance at holding Harry down was Remus. It was a good thing he’d never had to, though.

   Harry yanked up Selwyn’s collar to meet his eyes. “ _What are you talking about_?” His voice was dangerously close to cracking.

   “Potter, I'm stopping this right now—“

   “Run all you want, search all you want! She has the power of entry to any building, any _home_.”

   Harry’s blood ran cold.

   “Ah, there’s the fear I’ve been waiting to see. Now you understand,” Selwyn said as his sour breath ghosted up towards Harry. “All I had to do was distract you, Potter. Killing was only a side note.”

   All at once, Kingsley’s force pried Harry away from the giggling madman. “Potter, you need to _calm down_.”

   “Calm down?” Harry asked wildly. “He just threatened me! And my home, and we still don’t know where Crabbe is or where she’s hiding or—“

   “That’s quite enough,” Kingsley boomed. Silence returned to the room after him, and under his critical gaze Harry felt like a child being put in a corner. The whole thing infuriated him even more.

   He wasn’t good at this ‘control’ thing. Harry needed Draco. Where was Draco? At the flat. Oh Merlin, Draco was at the flat—

   Before he could even finish a thought, Kingsley had dragged him from the interrogation room. Was that disappointment on his face? Harry’s head was pounding too hard to tell.

   “I have to go,” Harry managed. “I have to go and make sure he’s okay.”

   Kingsley didn’t even have to ask who ‘he’ was. “What you need to do is sit down. You’re no help to anyone when you get like this.”

   “Like what?” he snapped. It was only then that he noticed the Minister watching on in terror. His brow was shiny with perspiration and his mouth wide enough to catch flies.

   In true Gryffindor style, Harry ignored that problem and decided it would be better dealt with later. As if Kingsley Shacklebolt could suddenly read his thoughts, Harry was promptly escorted out into the hall for what he imagined would be another reprimanding.

   Somehow, it would have comforted Harry if he had heard Selwyn cackling or screaming something at him as he left earshot. What disturbed him even more was the silence. A confident, secure silence.

   “I have to _go_ ,” Harry repeated.

   In the usually sparse interrogation halls, it was a surprise to hear boots coming Harry’s way. “Not alone, I hope.”

   Harry spun around to see Ron looking at him crossly. “I made a promise to that fiancée of yours that I’d keep in you in one piece. You can’t seriously be considering running off after a dangerous criminal without me having your back.” Behind his chastising was a barely visible spark in his eyes. Relief flooded Harry’s body. They were a team.

   For a split second, Ron looked as young as he did at Hogwarts the first time he’d informed Harry that he was being a heroic git and couldn’t do everything on his own.

   “Let’s go.”


	31. Sincerest Apologies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, I'm not so sure on what to put as trigger words for this chapter. There are some gay slurs used by characters and lots of mentions of death. I promise this chapter is the darkest this fic is getting, believe me. Thanks so much for reading, you guys.

**Chapter 31: Sincerest Apologies**

   If Harry was going to leave after Draco got up early to make him pancakes without so much as a goodbye kiss, then Harry’s foul mood must have been contagious. Draco knew his fiancée had finally gotten a break in his case, but that still didn’t stop him from being angry that the case existed in the first place.

   Of course, Draco would keep that to himself like he did with most things until Harry eventually pried it out of him. How was he supposed to sit Harry down and say: ‘This case is shit, and I'm pretty sure it’s all my fault that Crabbe died in the first place’? There was the option of doing exactly that, but Draco would never dare make himself so vulnerable.

   It almost hurt that the one person Draco always thought he could be honest with was so tangled up in something Draco could hardly form coherent opinions on. On one hand, Matilda’s attempted murdering was definitely wrong. A four year-old could have pointed that out. On the other, Matilda was like a beloved aunt of his. Crabbe and Goyle were attached to his hips in Hogwarts, which meant their doting parents were never far behind.

   Scribbling out a note that he would be out running errands for the rest of the day, Draco decided that a walk to the bank would clear his mind. He’d needed to deposit his paycheck in the joint account anyway.

   When Draco stepped out into the summer heat it was surprisingly refreshing. He had gotten used to wearing short-sleeved shirts and even abandoning his traditional robes while he could.

   The relaxed, easy feeling lasted about as long as it took to get to the Leaky Cauldron. Draco was recognized seconds after he opened the door.

   Most people would find it strange to enter a room and find the topic of conversation among every table and barstool switch to your personal life. Draco, however, was the master of strange. He lived in it daily and had known nothing but an inflated sense of fame for his whole life. There had even been reporters outside the hospital where he was born. Draco was the new heir, after all.

   Not even bothering to acknowledge the whispers of his wedding, Harry’s case, and general disapproval from the crowd around the barkeep, Draco exited through the back and drew his wand to tap the bricks.

   As the walls spread open for him like the Red Sea, that familiar buzz hit him straight on. All of those wizards and witches buying, selling, and illegally trading things right in the center of culture. Draco breathed it in. He was never the countryside sort, and over time Diagon Alley had grown on him.

   Draco passed a suspiciously empty potion shop owned by a certain Theodore Nott and could hardly stop the smile from growing on his face. Maybe, under all of that sarcasm and trickery, he had done a good thing.

   “Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Malfoy!” a merchant called, holding out a handful of pendants. “A lovely necklace for that groom of yours, hm? Discounted just for you!”

   All Draco gave him was a polite shake of his head and continued on his way. However, the mention of his pesky last name had turned heads.

   A woman with her two children gave him a nervous little wave, and he felt strangely inclined to return it. Her kids, on the other hand, were screaming with glee. “I’ve seen him in the papers! It’s him! It’s really him!”

   For a moment, Draco experienced positive feedback from those who read the papers of those who stalked him mercilessly. It was at least preferable to screams of ‘Death Eater!’ and the barrage of gay slurs that had followed him before Harry came around. Also, nobody seemed to be throwing rocks this time.

   As he made his way through the crowd, he quickly disappeared into the human waves of rushing businesswomen and shopkeepers. After shoving and weaving in and out of traffic, he washed up on the shore that was the entrance to Gringotts Bank.

   A goblin shuffled out of the front door and Draco waited a safe distance away from him before entering. _Harry would have held the door_ , he thought to himself.

_No, no. You are not thinking of him every time you see something that reminds you of him. Don’t become one of_ those _blokes. See that grass? Same color as my love’s eyes. See that dirt on the floor? My boyfriend is always so quick at tidying up. Are those glasses? He wears glasses. Are those feet? Guess what, he has feet too!_

Draco had known far too many people to fall into that trap. But then again, he was marrying the man. None of his friends had done that so far.

   The marble entrance hall unfolded in front of him and the buzz of activity didn’t only live in the streets of Diagon Alley. It was here, too. Draco walked up to a familiar teller (as familiar as he could get with scrunched goblin faces) and gave him the account number.

   “Deposit,” he informed the goblin before hearing an all-too familiar voice behind him.

   “…And I would also like a balance of my stock earning this year—Draco?” Lucius asked, turning to his son who stood in front of the teller next to his.

   His base instinct of Pureblood Heir Behavior kicked in. “Father,” Draco said coolly. “What brings you here?”

   “Withdrawing from the family vault,” he informed him. What he held back from Draco was what exactly he was using the money for. After all, Harry and Draco had nearly ruined it when they came into his study unannounced only to find him speaking with his hired help. “We can take the cart down together; I’d like to discuss some things with you.”

   ‘Discuss’ was such a loaded word. Also, there was the small detail of how Draco wasn’t going to the Malfoy vault. “Actually…“ Draco’s mind worked at a mile a minute just to come up with an excuse. A lie, a cover-up, anything.

   “Yes?” Lucius questioned, eyes narrowing.

   Draco let a rush of air escape him. It sounded a little too close to a laugh. After all, he was a man grown. Twenty-six, getting married, and not under the control of his parents. Being around Lucius may have made him feel like he was still sixteen, but he _wasn’t_. That was the important part. “I'm not going to the Malfoy vault.” The thrill of truth-telling to one of the most belligerent men he knew was almost too much.

   “Then where exactly would you be going?” The telltale signs of Lucius’ anger all happened at once. Crossed arms, scowl, tucking his cane under his arm…

   “The joint account that Harry and I share.” There. It was out in the open. Draco would have breathed a sigh of relief if the world hadn’t come crashing down around them. In a split second, the growing rumble at their feet had turned into a full, ear-popping explosion.

   Draco’s blood rushed hot in his temples. _Which way is up? Am I breathing? Yes, good, breathing is always good. Okay. Floor under my hands, there we go. Now stand…_

When his eyes refocused in the dark, he could make out the edges of vault arches. From above, light shined down through a hole in the Gringotts marble floor. At first, Draco thought the world was frozen. Then, his ears suffered a deafening uproar.

   Goblins sounded the alarm, assailing his already aching head. “What the _fuck_?” he managed, reaching for his wand.

   It was only at that moment that Draco remembered Lucius had been with him. He wheeled around in the first floor vaults—which his father liked to call ‘Sickle jars’—and saw that the patriarch of the Malfoy family had landed on his side.

   Draco’s heart skipped a beat. Fear was a bitter taste on his tongue, but a familiar one all the same. As he rushed to his father on the other side of the vault, he noticed his own injury. Draco’s ankle throbbed with every step, but if he hadn’t let the damned Dark Lord get between him and his family, then a twisted limb was nothing.

   Quickly, he went into Healer mode. Draco assessed the damage, and knew a head injury had knocked him out cold. Even so, his pulse was as strong as ever. Unicorn hair wand at the ready, Draco cast as many healing spells as he could think of. More than were necessary, in all honesty.

   “Episkey, Reparifors, Ferula, Tergeo—“

   “How touching,” Crabbe murmured from the other side of the room, stepping away from her casting circle. “You’re such a talented young man, Draco. Even when you were a boy I knew that.”

   Panicked, Draco’s eyes flicked up from his father to the older woman. He drew in a breath of surprise and the grip on his wand became so tight his already pale knuckles turned white as a ghost’s.

   “No ‘thank you, Auntie Matilda’?” she questioned, shaking her head. Little did Draco know she was in the same black robes she had worn when Harry had confronted her in the museum. Those test runs felt like they were an eternity ago. “Those manners of yours have fled you. That’s what you get for rolling around with dogs. You get fleas. Much like that dreadful uncle of yours.”

   Shakily, Draco rose to his feet. He couldn’t let her see him sweat. “I'm actually quite fond of Sirius. Once you get past the fleas, of course.”

   Matilda grinned. “Ah, but you’re still a smart aleck.”

   “Some things never change.”

   “And some do,” she sighed, her grey bob swishing as she walked over towards Draco. “I believe your… Companion—“

   “I have many ‘companions’,” Draco scoffed, almost forgetting for a moment that the elderly woman in front of him had both broken into and caved in the floor at Gringotts. “Are you talking about Pansy? The one whose girlfriend you’d like to off? Or maybe Theo, him and Colin are going pretty well.” When Matilda gave him a confused look, he clarified. “The papers haven’t caught wind yet, but our dearest Theodore has been shacking up with a muggleborn.”

   A gasp of indignation came from her. “You—you poison! You’ve infected those closest to you, and soon the world’s wound will weep with your corruption. Who I meant when I said ‘companion’—“

   “I know,” Draco shrugged. _Just act confident, like you know what you’re doing. That’s how you got through eight years of Herbology._ “You were talking about Harry.”

   “The half-blood boy you intend on marrying,” Matilda corrected sourly.

   Draco nodded. “Exactly. Something tells me you’ve got a problem with that.”

   “And your wits haven’t failed you yet,” she replied, boots clicking on the floor as she walked past a small family vault. If she caught him at the right angle, she could see the phantom figure of the boy he used to be. Vincent was beside him as well, a child once again.

   “They won’t, I assure you.” Draco saw that her wand was still in her hand and tried his best not to worry. His face was an open book of his emotions. Draco would never be like his father in that respect; the man who lay crumpled behind him.

   Matilda was only a few feet away from him. The light shining down through the floor was a hot summer sun, and was hardly forgiving on her wrinkles and scars. “But I think I could have use of you.”

   That surprised him. “What are you talking about?”

   “First, you call off your engagement with that _murderer_.”

   “And if I don’t?” Draco challenged, ready to cross his arms like some petulant child. It still felt like she was chiding reprimanding him for hiding under the tables with Theo and listening in on conversations. He could still hear her old voice; the one with charm that flowed sweet as honey. ‘ _It’s rude to eavesdrop, boys. Now, do you see how Pansy and Millicent are playing over there? Why don’t you join them?_ ’

   “I would hope it wouldn’t come to that,” Matilda said sternly. “You’re the only remaining heir to two massive fortunes, and in your blood runs history. The whole history of the wizarding world has led to you, Draco Lucius Malfoy. It should be yours for the taking.”

   “Not sure I want it,” he shrugged. “We have a Minister for that, you know.”

   “The Minister is dead.” Her voice was cold and clinical.

   Draco’s eyes widened. “What—?”

   “You didn’t think I’d let my pet get caught without someone there to protect him, did you? After the Minister confirmed that Potter would be interrogating him… Well, his office is much easier to break into than Gringotts.”

   “You’re lying,” Draco said, mostly hoping it was true.

   “Hardly,” Matilda said with a wicked grin. “Regnum directed Potter towards the flat you share so that the Auror Kingsley would be too busy tracking you down to defend his Minister.” From her black coat’s pocket, she drew a pocket watch. Draco had seen it a thousand times before in pictures and Prophet headlines. It was the one that the Minister wore at all times, with the insignia of the Ministry on it.

   “If you just want me to break up with Harry,” Draco laughed out of sheer nervousness. “Then why did you _murder_ the Minister?”

   “You’re not the only source of corruption, my dear. I originally had five targets. But I figure two out of five isn’t horrible. At least it’s avenged my son,” she hissed.

   Draco shook his head, wanting to take a step back and being stopped by Lucius’ motionless body. “No. Vincent wouldn’t have wanted that, he—“

   “You never even called him by his first name. Only after he died would you give him that honor.” Matilda’s volume climbed and echoed off of the walls in the vault. Above, the sound of sirens still blared. “He was nothing more than a helping hand for you, I know that. And I know that you let him die anyway.”

   “There was nothing I could do about it,” Draco insisted, the look in her eyes evoking more guilt over the situation than he thought possible. “If it wasn’t for Harry—“

   “If it wasn’t for you protecting Potter, Vincent would have never cast those flames! He was loyal until the very end to his Lord. I cannot say the same for you.”

   The information crashed over Draco in waves. “Two out of five,” he said in a voice barely below a whisper. “You said two out of five.”

   “Speak up, boy.”

   “Two out of five,” Draco repeated, louder this time. “Who else? Pansy got away, Maggie’s in hiding, Remus and Sirius are safe at Hogwarts, Harry isn’t even here—” This time, Draco cut himself off. _He_ was here. A cold chill rushed down his spine.

   “Ah, there it is. The five I wanted to eradicate were the mudblood girl, the wolf, that sham of a Minister, Potter, and you. You asked what I would do if you didn’t end your betrothal, after all.”

   It felt like Draco’s whole life had been a choice between Harry and death from the first day they had met. At first, not hating Harry meant shame and disappointment from his family. Then the war came. When an Order member charged him, he just remembered screaming: ‘It’s me! It’s Draco! I'm on your side!’. Maybe he had been all along. But now, the choice was very literal.

   An escape plan was his first thought. There was no apparation in the bank, but there were ways he could get out. He could send himself upwards, or hop on a cart—“Draco,” Matilda sighed. “I see the magic in your eyes. Think about casting a spell, and it will be your father who bares your burden. He will give in to your own selfish needs. One of the proudest men in the wizarding world, and he’s been dishonored by you. Your whole family has.”

   Draco thought of the crypts, teeming with spirits come back to seek their revenge. For some reason, they all had Matilda’s piercing grey eyes.

   “He’s no Abraxas,” Matilda sighed. “He would have never let this happen.”

   From behind him, Draco heard a scrape of fabric on marble. “Don’t,” he said quietly. “It’s fine, just lay down. You’re hurt.”

   “Ah, so Lucius has awakened. Maybe you’ll be able to understand, like you said at the funeral,” Matilda murmured. “You said you’d never understand what it would be like to lose a child to war.”

   “No,” Lucius said, rising to his knees. “I'm not just going to _lie down_ —“

   Draco couldn’t tell if he was correcting his grammar or just plain angry. Both of those tended to happen at once, usually. “Father, _get down_.”

   “Only if you get out of here and let Matilda and I work things out for ourselves,” he replied as if they were fighting over which house they would be staying in for vacation.

   “That’s completely ridiculous, you need to get home and—“

   “Draco, I am your father. You are not going to tell me what to do—“

   “Oh, so you’d rather duel Vince’s bloody mum than—“

   “That’s quite enough,” Matilda snapped. “There will be no dueling. Either you end this engagement and marry a pureblood woman to carry on your line, or I will end you. It’s the only way to keep this empire intact, and I will do what I have to do. It is my duty, and I will take no pleasure in it. My target was never Parkinson; she merely got in the way and my pet misunderstood my instructions. They were to… Convince her to change her ways through eliminating her... Friend. I wanted her to breed like a proper pureblood. Sirius would have put up too much resistance either way, so there was no persuading with him. All we needed to do was eliminate that half breed.”

   “You couldn’t kill Remus if you took snapped his wand in half,” Lucius laughed, standing to his feet. Sure, he may have not gotten along too well with the man’s husband and possibly never would, but Remus knew his way around a defensive spell.

   Matilda recoiled as if the words had singed her. “ _Lucius_.”

   “Matilda,” Lucius muttered, propping himself up on a piece of fallen floor. Looking up at the woman he had been such good friends with when their sons had run in the same crowd. They’d shared Christmases and summer vacations, and he’d seen her marriage fall apart after the war.

   “No,” she snapped. “You’re just as bad as the rest of them. And you dare call yourself a pureblood? Your father would be so disappointed in you.”

   Lucius held back a ‘probably’. After all, they were at wand-point. “I don’t really think that’s any of your business.”

   “Of course it’s my business! Nobody else is stepping up! Everything is going downhill and we are supposed to protect our tradition!” Matilda cried, lowering her guard only to yell. Draco wondered if he could get a hex in.

   “Things are changing, Matilda. It’s a different world from when we were children,” Lucius said calmly.

   “When we were children,” she said angrily and with a disturbed purpose. “You would have never done this. We were the Head of Slytherin house together, the most pure of all! We played our parts. We were married off and made children for the next generation, and look at what they’ve done! All of our hard work for nothing.”

   “It wasn’t for nothing,” he tried.

   “Yes, yes it was, Lucius! Can’t you see what he’s made of you? My son is under the earth while yours corrupts our very existence!”

   “Your son died trying to murder someone,” Lucius retorted. “In the end, he burnt up in his own flames.” For a moment, he thought he sounded like his wife. Maybe twenty-six years of marriage did that to someone.

   “And then the great Harry Potter swooped in and saved your son! And the Goyle boy, no less. Mine was the only left behind.” Matilda pointed an accusing finger at Draco. “You did nothing about it! You let him die just like you are letting this blood die out!”

   Draco’s mouth couldn’t quite form words. Instead, Lucius took a protective step forward. “Vincent’s death was never his fault. We grieved with you, we came to his funeral!”

   “And then Draco scurried right back into Potter’s bed,” she scowled.

   “We weren’t even going out then,” Draco reminded everyone in the room for his own reasons.

   Both parents seemed to ignore the comment entirely. “Matilda, go home. Wait for the Ministry to come collect you,” Lucius said solemnly. His pity had left him once she began to attack his family.

   “No,” Matilda said, drawing her wand up again. Draco cursed himself for missing the opportunity. “I gave you both my choice. The alarm system is no longer connected to the Ministry, but they will be here soon for me anyway. Doubtlessly those horrid goblins ran to the Minister’s office only to find him… Indisposed. Aurors will be here, and if I am going down here then I will take you with me.”

   _Aurors_. Both Malfoys had never been so happy to hear that word before. “Matilda, don’t test me,” Lucius warned her, raising his wand. This time, Draco didn’t tell him to sit back down.

   “What is your choice, Draco Malfoy? I have the floor below you rigged with more exploding charms, and I will not hesitate to end this here and now.”

   Draco was more scared than he was willing to admit. There was a pounding in the side of his head and a horrified look on his face that mirrored it. “I… We can work this out, please just calm down.”

   “You have sixty seconds,” Matilda growled, pointing her wand at the floor. In that moment, she was more than ready to die for the sake of her lineage. If Draco wouldn’t reproduce, then he wouldn’t be the first Malfoy to marry someone of the same sex.

   “You have to be kidding—“

   “Fifty-seven, fifty-six, fifty-five…”

   “We have to get out of here,” Draco said in a hushed tone to his father, his need for escape more frantic than ever.

    “Fifty, forty-nine, forty-eight…”

   Then, an idea sprang on him. “I could lie,” Draco said quickly, meeting his father’s tired grey eyes. “We could say that I’ll break off the engagement and then we’ll _run_.”

   With Draco’s ankle and Lucius’ cane being lost in the rubble, that didn’t seem likely.

   “Thirty-six, thirty-five, thirty-four…”

   Lucius’ mind clearly somewhere else, and Draco hardly had the time to fuck around. As Matilda continued her ominous counting, Draco put his plan into action. “Matilda!”

   “Yes?” Matilda lowered her wand, smiling devilishly. In her eyes, Draco could see her raising a flag of victory.

   “I’ve made my choice,” Draco said shakily. He would do anything he had to do to keep safe for his Harry, even if it meant a white lie about not marrying him.

   “And I’ve made mine,” Lucius said before Matilda could reply.

   Draco’s head snapped around to his father, giving him a confused and borderline irate look. They were in mortal peril, and now really wasn’t the time for any cryptic rebellion.

   However, Matilda interpreted it as something on her side of the argument. “So you’ve come around?” She looked relieved. Her tight shoulders dropped and she let a smile come over her wrinkled face.

   Lucius returned the smile. “Hardly. Whatever my son says, he’s marrying that half-blood.” Matilda, after knowing Lucius for most of his life, should have known not to offend his sense of pride.

   “After all of the pomp and circumstance, you’re no better than your faggot son.”

   The second mistake Matilda made was inciting his anger. Without so much as a second’s hesitation, Lucius summoned his wand from a pile of rocks. Before Matilda had a chance to react, a bolt of white lightning shot from the tip of his dark wand.

   “Nobody—and I mean _nobody_ —calls my son a faggot!”

   Matilda would have normally been able to block the blast easily, if one had not also come from behind her as well. In true Auror fashion, Harry, Ron, and Kingsley were just a smidge late. The second bolt had come from Harry’s wand, taking her by surprise and paralyzing her out across the black stone floor near the cart track.

   Draco wasn’t sure if he should burst out into laughter or some kind of emotional breakdown. Thankfully, he went with the former. “Father,” he gasped between laughs. “But I _am_ a faggot!”

   “Doesn’t matter,” Lucius said firmly. “It’s the principle of the thing.”

   After his laughter quieted, he looked up at his father. If they were a sane, functional family, this would definitely be the moment for some expression of love. “Thanks,” Draco tried.

   “No need.” It was his duty. Not continuing on his bloodline, but protecting the family he had.

   “Draco!” Harry said, bounding over to him and capturing him in a tight hug. Draco hadn’t realized how weak his knees were with fear until Harry held him up. “Are you okay?”

   “Yeah, fine,” Draco murmured into his shoulder. “Also, you’re late.”

   Harry held back a laugh. “My sincerest apologies, though it looked like you were in good hands.”

   Draco smiled and pulled back to get a better look at Harry. Something fluttered in his stomach that he would usually swear off as cliché. Before Draco said something incriminating, he cradled Harry’s jaw and brought him in for a kiss.

   Kingsley was inspecting Lucius’ injuries by the time they broke the kiss, and Ron had busied himself with trying to fix the floor while carefully avoiding the snogging duo.

   “Have I told you lately how much I love you?” Draco asked, resting his elbows on Harry’s shoulders.

   “Not today, no,” he grinned.

   “My sincerest apologies.” Draco gave him another peck before pressing their cheeks together and whispering in his ear. “I’ll show you just how much when we get home.”

   “Oi,” Ron said, trying to balance a large piece of marble. “As nice as that all is, can I get a hand over here?”

   Harry laughed and loosened his grip on Draco’s waist. “Sure.”

   “Don’t think I'm done talking to you about this ‘joint account’,” Lucius said from where he was seated and being inspected by the Head Auror. Soon-to-be Minister, really.

   “Wouldn’t dream of it,” Draco snarked, casting a spell on his ankle and walking with Harry to go fix what had been broken.


	32. Tale of the Three In-Laws

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Any idea what Lucius has been searching for?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve been excited to write this one for a long while! Plus, I wanted to get some smut in. For Hannah, who is a doll for reading my fic in class. I'm sick as a dog right now, so lots of chapters will be coming in soon. Thanks again!

**Chapter 32: Tale of the Three In-Laws**

   Harry was having a hard time believing what he was seeing. His wallet was having an even worse time. “They’re…”

   “Perfect,” Draco finished for him, unpacking the second box of engraved champagne glasses. The two rings on the glasses sparkled with what Harry’s untrained eye took to be diamonds.

   Harry at least had to admit that Draco was right. “They _are_ beautiful.”

   With one for every guest, the glasses even proudly bore an inscription of their names and wedding date. ‘Draco and Harry Malfoy-Potter, August 13th, 2006’. When they were filled with any drink whatsoever, they would glow. Draco decided to save that surprise for later. “We can use them again,” Draco appealed to Harry’s financially insecure nature. “And they came with a knife for the cake.”

   “They’re beautiful,” Harry repeated, giving Draco’s hip a squeeze. Being in the venue made his heart beat a little faster. Knowing that in twelve days the grand ballroom would be filled with his friends and family come to celebrate his bloody _wedding_ , it was understandable.

   When Draco summoned another box, Harry raised an eyebrow. “Quit looking at me like that,” Draco grinned. “They’re napkins. Admittedly with napkin rings, but they are fabric with some embellishment on them.”

   Nodding, Harry shoved his hands in his robe pockets.

   “Harry,” Draco sighed.

   “What?”

   “We don’t need to worry about money. I have no idea why you’re so hesitant. It’s not like you were ever in the throes of poverty.”

   “I don’t know,” he shrugged. “Something just feels wrong about it. You know I hardly even go into my family vault. My cousin always used to pitch a fit whenever my Aunt and Uncle weren’t spending boatloads of cash on him.”

   “And that is why they aren’t invited,” Draco said. “Now, get over here and _relax_. You’ve solved your case, you’re filthy rich, and you’re going to be married to a gorgeous bloke with excellent taste in wedding favors.”

   Well, it was true. Harry followed Draco’s lead into the violet seats adorned with white sashes and took a seat. “I’ll try.”

   “This should keep your mind off of it,” Draco offered, summoning yet another box. At least Harry would appreciate the creativity he put into it. This time, he drew out individually wrapped silver bookmarks, once again engraved and tied up with a wisteria ribbon. Each bookmark was made differently for each guest. Harry could see Angelina’s at the top, a delicately cut broom with a trail of sparks behind it.

   Harry smiled and reached forward to unwrap a blooming rose and hold it up to the light. “Hermione’s going to love this.”

   “Exactly. Worth every knut.”

   “You’re right,” Harry sighed, leaning forward. “You really are good at this wedding stuff. I'm honestly surprised we didn’t try it sooner.”

   Draco smiled as he removed the white tissue paper from another wedding favor. His father’s peacock feather looked even more intricate than it had in the display book when he had ordered them. “Then try proposing sooner next time,” he teased.

   “Would you have still said ‘yes’?”

   His blonde hair swished around so fast that all Harry could see was a platinum blur. When everything settled, Draco’s grey eyes were piercing into his skin. “You,” Draco declared. “Are an idiot.”

   Harry laughed in spite of himself. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, honey.”

   Keeping his gaze locked, Draco raised an eyebrow at the pet-name. “I would have said ‘yes’ any time you asked.”

   “Then why the hell didn’t you propose?”

   “You’re the Gryffindor,” he retorted. “I could never work up the nerve like you could.”

   After unwrapping Bill’s silver, illuminated wand, Harry looked up at Draco. “Did you think I would say ‘no’?” The way his voice faltered towards the end made Draco’s chest clench.

   “No, it’s not that. I just—“ _Thought you were too good to be true, and at any moment if I reached out to feel how real this was you would turn to smoke and fade away._ “You’re braver than I am, that’s all.”

   “I think you’re plenty brave,” Harry said, determined. “You know that.”

   “I do,” Draco nodded, liking how those words came out of his mouth so easily. It wasn’t like ‘spouse’ or ‘beneficiary’. Those were the worst of them. They implied decay, and the most horrid thing that Draco tried to avoid at all costs: growing old.

   Sure, if Draco Malfoy was going to grow old with anyone in the world, he’d be honored to do it with Harry Potter. Yet, if there was some way out of it… Some way to pause life as it was, when they were quite literally in their honeymoon stage, Draco would take that in a heartbeat. It was the little things he saw his parents do that bothered him. His mother was always telling his father not to eat such salty foods, to keep his cholesterol down. Narcissa would walk into rooms and forget why she was there. They’d gotten hobbies, reading glasses, and considered themselves _retired_.

   To Draco, that word was akin to death. He never wanted to harp at Harry for not remembering when their anniversary was or for not getting enough sleep. Their bodies were fine just the way they were now, young and able to wake up from a wild party and continue on the day at work as if nothing had happened. Not to mention the lack of need for virility potions. The day that Draco had to ask Theo to brew him a flask just to screw Harry would be the day Draco would take a long walk off of a short pier.

   “What are you thinking about?” Harry asked, knowing that silence all too well.

   “Mortality,” Draco sighed dramatically.

   “Pretty dower for a wedding, hm?”

   “I suppose.” After the last bookmark was unpacked, attendants came by to take their wedding favors to a storage room. Harry shook his head when Draco threatened them if anything should happen to the precious metals, but had a smile on his face the whole time.

   “So,” Harry said as they were left alone once again. “Is that everything?”

   “Hardly,” Draco murmured, his voice hinting at exhaustion. “But that’s all we’re doing here. Do you want to stay in for the rest of the evening?”

   Harry smirked. “I thought I’d worn you out from last night.”

   “Oh, Harry. If you think that’s true then you hardly know my stamina.” Draco returned his smirk, glad that he had rubbed off on Harry in more ways than one.

   “You’ll just have to remind me,” Harry said innocently. Last night had been the sort that left him limping in the morning. A repeat performance was more than welcome.

   Draco shook his head. “You’re so forgetful. What am I going to do with you when our minds start going?”

   “Keep on reminding me.”

   Draco decided he liked that plan. With only a second’s warning, he grabbed Harry by the wrist and pushed their lips together.

   When Harry opened his eyes, they were back in their flat.

   While the sun set outside their windows, Draco slid a hand up his fiancée’s loose cotton shirt. “You almost make this too easy for me.”

   “Is that an objection?” Harry questioned, tugging his shirt off before Draco even got the chance to.

   Faced with Harry’s bare chest and a stirring in his stomach, Draco couldn’t even dream of objecting. Not to a man like Harry. His Harry. “Slut,” he teased, trying to stomp out the blossoming sentimentality in his chest.

   At that, Harry happily met him for another kiss. Draco’s tongue swirled along Harry’s bottom lip between his parted teeth, lips rocking against the edges of his mouth. Strong, steady hands wrapped around Draco and their bodies aligned on the mattress.

   Draco’s nails dragged down Harry’s back while his mouth muffled Harry’s moans. Within his nimble fingers, Draco contained the most powerful force he had ever felt in his life. It lurked within Harry and came out at his most ravenous. A free and unburdened man who had forgotten wars and deaths and grief was very alive and real in front of him.

   Capturing that, Draco pushed his back down into the bed without so much as interrupting the kiss. As usual, Harry eagerly moved to form whatever shape fit against Draco best. It was a path they’d travelled for years, and it never got old.

   However, Draco didn’t want to think about ‘old’.

   He wanted to think about Harry; living in the present moment with the beautiful man in his bed. Their bed.

   “Pants,” Draco gasped into his mouth. “Off.”

   Harry reached a hand down into a front pocket and whipped out his wand. The benefits of being magical once again came to mind when Harry Vanished all of his clothes in one shot.

   “I like the way you think.” Draco’s mouth dipped down to Harry’s neck, clamping down with his teeth. As Harry let out a hiss, Draco’s bites turned to kisses and laps. Harry whimpered as the cold set in around his now entirely exposed body, rutting up to Draco for warmth.

   It wasn’t hard to heat up Harry’s sun-kissed skin, especially when Draco let out a hot breath over the wet skin of Harry’s neck.

   “Now you’re wearing too much,” Harry said, looking down at Draco’s disheveled robes. Proudly, Harry noted that Draco’s pale lips were bitten cherry red by him, and his hair disheveled as ever. Draco would probably run for the shower if he ever saw himself like this, so Harry kept him pressed firmly to his chest.

   Draco happily took ahold of Harry’s wand—his _actual_ wand—and Vanished his own clothes. “That better?”

   “Much.” The Gryffindor hauled him back down for a bruising kiss.

   Arching into him, Draco returned the kiss with the same fervor. He felt Harry’s stiff cock brush up against his. “Half-hard just from kissing?” Draco teased.

   “I am a slut, after all,” Harry grinned.

   “At least you know it.” Draco gave him a sweet, soft kiss before kneeling up on the bed. “Legs on my shoulders.”

   Harry complied quickly, resting his toned calves on Draco’s frame. His eyes locked on Draco’s as the summoned lube in Draco’s hand made contact with Harry’s prick.

   A sharp groan came from him when Draco’s hand tightened around his prick. Eagerly, Draco watched the pre-come seeped from the head and pumped his hand up and down to get more out of him.

   Draco could feel his own desire flaring between his thighs by the time Harry’s breathing became uneven. He let go of Harry’s throbbing member and caused a dismayed whine to escape him. “Fuck, Draco. Come on, I need you in me. _Now_.”

   With that, Draco shoved two fingers into his taut hole. “That quick enough for you?”

   Shoots of pain took root in Harry and spread their branches through his stomach. “Yes,” he said through gritted teeth, feeling Draco’s lubricated fingers slide deeper into him as the pain ebbed away and Draco apologetically rubbed his prostate with every push.

   Even though his face was flushed and lips swollen, Draco’s eyes couldn’t be torn away from his beautiful body. The way his legs sloped up to part for him, all for him… It was breathtaking. Playfully, Draco gave his arse a little slap. “Good.”

   Draco’s hand returned to stroking Harry’s length as he opened him up. Slowly and with a tight grip around Harry’s prick, he slid the head of his cock inside of Harry. “That’s it,” he murmured, pushing in. “Fuck, that’s it.”

   Harry welcomed the expansion with a shuddery groan. Draco moved along with him, his hands wet with lubricant, grabbing onto Harry’s thighs and sliding up to hold his knees.

   Swirls of sensation came with every thrust that Draco began, Harry’s tight rings of muscle clenching around him to make Draco cry out with each plunge of his hips. “Harry,” he growled, digging his fingers into Harry’s soft skin.

   “That all you got?” Harry challenged against his better judgment. Draco would never admit defeat, and certainly wasn’t about to start.

   Savagely, Draco gave it to him as rough as he could. Spreading Harry’s knees even wider apart, he was able to dive in even deeper with each thrust. Harry called out Draco’s name with every surge of pleasure and the wild song was punctuated with the slap of their skin together.

   “ _Harder_ ,” Harry demanded still, pushing back to meet every pulse of Draco’s cock in and out of him.

   Now holding nothing back, the slams into Harry became so rough that his hands clawed at the sheets just to keep from screaming. However, he loved every second of it. He loved the primal grunts and roars that stuck in his memory on lonely Auror cases abroad.

   Harry’s cries deteriorated into begging when he looked up to see Draco’s face. His eyes were molten silver and his brow damp with sweat. With a tremor, bursts of come filled Harry and splashed over the tuft of black hair above Harry’s groin as Draco continued to pull in and out.

   Finally, Draco’s limp cock slipped out of Harry and he nuzzled up between his thighs, letting Harry’s legs fall to the wayside.

   His cock had flagged from being fucked so hard, and he knew that his legs would be black and blue in the morning, but Draco’s hands made up for everything and then some.

   “Want me to suck you off?” Draco purred, looking across the expanse of Harry’s body.

   “Yes,” he breathed, tipping his head back into a downy soft pillow.

   Without another word, Draco’s lips parted to allow Harry in his warm, wet mouth. All it took was a few hard sucks and Harry’s hands were flying to Draco’s hair while calling out his name.

   Draco pawed up to rest his thrumming body next to Harry’s. “I did,” Harry said.

   “’Did’ what?”

   “Underestimate your stamina. Look forward to me overestimating it in the future.”

   Draco laughed, shifting onto his side so he could give Harry’s shoulder a kiss. A little freckle lingered there that Draco happened to find adorable. “I will,” Draco grinned.

   Harry rolled on his side to give Draco another loving kiss, nudging their noses together. Nothing needed to be done, nothing needed to be said.

   They would stir to share a bottle of wine over a game of wizard chess later, but for now, they were content to laze in each other’s arms.

******

   Sirius shook his head, looking up at the Defense Against the Dark Arts room’s arched ceiling. “Either this place shrank, or I'm going crazy.”

   “I’d go with the latter, but you are a little taller than you were in school,” Remus replied from his desk, thumbing through a book of spells.

   “Is that a comment about my height?” the animagus questioned, putting his hands on his hips. “It’s not my fault that I'm so inbred that my legs forgot to grow.”

   A smile stretched the scar across Remus’ mouth. “I like your legs.”

   Sirius rolled his eyes. “You just like being able to get your arms around me, you old pervert.”

   “Oh, hush up. We’re here to look for a tracking spell, not talk about what lascivious men we’ve become,” Remus said, closing the book carefully and getting another one from the pile next to him.

   The amount of books in Sirius’ life had grown exponentially since meeting Remus, but nothing compared to the amount in his life after moving in with him. Their first flat had been a couch, bed, kitchen, and endless books. Structures made entirely of books. At least they made good seats. “You’re being paranoid.”

   “And you’re being difficult,” Remus countered.

   “Nobody was in the Forbidden Forest this week. You asked the kids, and I doubt they’d lie to you after experiencing a crazy pureblood meltdown together,” Sirius pointed out.

   “I don’t think it was any of the summer students. The shadow I saw was too big.”

   Sirius rested his elbows the front of Remus’ desk. “Maybe Hagrid’s hiding another sibling. Who knows?”

   “The point is that I want to.” Remus shut the book in front of him and moved on to another one.

   “Moony, I have a feeling you’re not the only creature of the night traipsing about in the woods,” his husband offered, trying to get his attention away from the text on the pages.

   Remus shook his head. “But it wasn’t during the night! I was just out there, taking a walk—“

   “And to believe they pay you to work here in the summer.”

   “—when I saw someone running around in the woods.”

   “Madness,” Sirius sighed and walked away from the desk.

   “If you helped, this would faster and we could be home before it’s too dark,” Remus tried.

   Clearly, Sirius was in a difficult sort of mood. He busied himself with magically rearranging the skeletons in Remus’ classroom with his wand so that the skulls were where the feet should be, and the leg bones were antennas for the hipbone headpiece.

   “ _Sirius_.”

   “Are you going to give me detention, Professor Lupin?” Sirius asked, giving him a mock-pout. He was never above lechery, especially not above the kind that got him laid out across Remus’ desk.

   “Only if you’re lucky,” Remus replied with a smirk. When his eyes drifted back to the book, he let out a sigh of relief. “Here it is.”

   Sirius bounded back towards Remus’ desk. If he was Padfoot at the time, his tail would be wagging. “ _Finally_. And you better uphold that promise of detention later.”

   “I always do,” Remus reminded him. Suddenly, he found himself in need of a bookmark. All the books in the world, and no bookmarks. The irony was not lost on Remus as he was forced to dog-ear the page. “Now let’s go.”

   After a familiar trek across the castle grounds where they had once ruled, roamed, and fallen in love with as children, they were at the edge of the Forest.

   Even after two wars, the ancient trees still look as same as they did the first time Remus came stumbling out of them into the light, covered in blood. It was hard not to associate the woods with full moons and pranks and four boys who thought that they could take on the world together. Then it had become three, and two. The last surviving Marauders, doomed to their memories.

   “I have a strange case of déjà vu,” Sirius joked. Remus held in his laugh, hoping they would get through this quickly. “Okay, fine. So, what is this spell?”

   “Quaerere Vistigia,” Remus said, making an arch of green sparks in the air with his wand. The second his incantation was finished, the sparks flew into the woods. Once they had found their target, they burst into shimmering orbs.

   “Sure, let’s follow the eerie will-o'-the-wisps into the woods so we can track down the creep walking about. When has that failed us?”

   Remus ignored his sarcasm and took Sirius’ hand. “All we have to do is follow them. I'm sure we can manage.”

   “Are you sure it wasn’t a centaur?” Sirius asked, following him on the green-lit path.

   “Yes,” he said determinedly. “I'm sure.”

   Seeing no other way out of this, Sirius kept pace with his husband. In the hand not occupied by Remus, a ‘Lumos’ charm burned bright at the tip of his rune-carved wand.

   They trekked through the trees they had spent so many nights running through when they were young, and even more when they were on four legs. The wisps carried them across rivers and banks, all tied together by a gossamer green thread that weaved in and out of the tree limbs.

   After Sirius was sure they’d passed that rock for the third time, he stopped. “We’re going in circles.”

   Remus frowned. “I'm not sure.”

   “No, look! Can’t you see that tree with the moss on the side? We definitely passed that,” Sirius pointed out with his wand.

   “Sirius, lots of trees have moss on them.”

   “Yeah, but this one is familiar,” he argued.

   Suddenly, Remus’ hand grasped tight to Sirius’ shoulder. “No, hush. It ends there.”

   Hair bristling, Sirius craned his neck to see from Remus’ vantage point. In the clearing there stood two men, one with a shovel and the other armed only with a black, serpent-detailed cane.

   “And not a moment too late,” Lucius said, entirely pleased with his venture out onto his alma mater’s campus. “The money will be in your account by the morning.”

   “Thank you, sir. I told you I was the best money could buy!” the man next to him exclaimed with a look of child-like glee on his greasy-looking face.

   A crater had been formed at their feet, clearly dug from the shovel in Lucius’ hired help’s hand. At the bottom, something glittered in the moonlight.

   “A real shame what happened to Matilda,” the mystery man offered to Lucius, causing a concerned glance travelled between Remus and Sirius.

   Sirius’ lips brushed against the shell of Remus’ ear. “What the fuck is the Great and Almighty Malfoy doing fucking around on our turf?” Sirius had grown accustomed to ignoring the fact that they didn’t actually own the woods.

   “No clue,” Remus whispered, thinking back to his past conversations with Draco. However, the groom-to-be had never mentioned anything about Lucius that didn’t pertain to him coming around about the marriage. At least the elder Malfoy was making progress.

   “Then let’s find out,” Sirius said, excited. Before Remus could object, he found himself being dragged out into the forest clearing.

   Lucius immediately drew his wand, pointing it at them menacingly in the dark. Once Sirius re-lit his Lumos, the blonde lowered his weapon. “What are you doing here?”

   “We could ask you the same thing,” Sirius responded with a hint of malice. The man next to Lucius nervously drew his wand before his employer had to shoo him away.

   “I didn’t know there was a full moon tonight,” Lucius responded casually, never one to give up a dig at relatives.

   “And I didn’t know you liked to float around the woods pretending to be a part of the faerie hunt,” the animagus countered smoothly. He knew how to deal with men like Lucius.

   Remus figured that if he didn’t stop the verbal barrage now, he would never be able to. “Lucius,” he cut in. “Were you here earlier today?”

   “Is this an interrogation?”

   “I was,” offered the man with his tail still in-between his legs from being dismissed by his boss.

   Sirius seemed to take that as an admission of guilt from Lucius. “Doing his dirty work, I presume,” he snarked.

   If looks could kill, the contractor and his shovel would both be pushing up daisies. Once again the man backed down, inching towards the edge of the clearing. “Sorry, sir.”

   Lucius let an annoyed sigh rush through his thin lips. “There’s no ‘dirty work’ going on here, Black.”

   “Lupin,” Sirius corrected. All deceptions aside, Lucius had never forgotten his in-law’s last name. He simply liked to push his buttons.

   “Does it really matter?” Lucius said with a devilish smile. “Now, I really must be off—“

   “Not until you tell us what you were digging up,” said Remus. His wand had come up so fast that Lucius hadn’t even noticed it. Damned werewolf and his spells.

   Uncomfortably, Lucius searched for an acceptable answer. “A minor preparation,” he offered, knowing it wouldn’t reveal much. “Now lower your wand. We are going to be one degree closer of family by the end of the month.”

   “Can’t wait,” Sirius snipped.

   “And don’t you want to be honest with us?” Remus asked as he turned Lucius’ own strategy back on him.

   A small smile danced across Lucius’ lips. “You’re married to a pureblood. You should know how often white lies come in handy.” However, his attempt at dark humor fell flat. Lucius wasn’t about to check behind him to see whether or not his contractor was still there, eyes still stuck to Remus’ wand. “Either way, it’s nothing dangerous or illegal. No need to call Auror Potter in.”

   “Then tell me exactly what it is you’re doing,” Remus challenged. “Nobody except faculty is allowed into the Forest after sunset.”

   It took Lucius all the strength in his body to hold back a comment about whether or not the orphans could come and go as they pleased. He could feel all this political correctness and liberal idealism turning his hair grey.

   “Well?” Sirius demanded, raising his own wand. He wasn’t going to hesitate to deck Lucius like he had that night in the Department of Mysteries.

   Cornered, and confirmed with the fact that his employee had actually fled by the sound of rustling leaves, Lucius clenched his teeth together. “You cannot tell a soul. Especially not Draco.”

   That last bit had Remus more concerned than the liked to admit. His encounter with Selwyn had shaken him up, and he couldn’t take one more purist showdown on Hogwarts ground. “That all depends on what it is.”

   It came to Sirius’ mind that three grown men should be able to have a regular conversation without threats or tracking spells, but that had been the first half of his life. “Look,” Sirius said, fed up. “Tell us why you were here or you’ll wake up in the Ministry like Crabbe.”

   “This has nothing to do with that,” Lucius said carefully, taking a step back. Matilda had threatened his _family_. Nobody got away with that without a grudge being held for life on Lucius’ end.

   Remus’ brow knit in confusion. “Then what is it?”

   “Fine,” the Slytherin sighed. “Come here.” With a wave of his pale, thin hand, he summoned them over.

   Sirius was the first to step forward, eyes locked on Lucius as his hand dove into his pocket. “That better not be a—“

   “A what? Another wand?” Lucius questioned.

   When his real treasure finally came to the surface, it was bundled in a red and gold cloth. Remus followed his husband to get a closer look, watching in awe as Lucius unfurled the fabric and revealed what he had been scouring the world for ever since the day that Draco had announced his engagement.

   “How did you know it would be here?” Remus asked breathlessly.

   “A very reliable source.”


	33. Gussied Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea what I was smoking when I wrote this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, if you want to know how this chapter goes, all I have to tell you is that ‘Harry Potter blow up doll’ is now on my search history. I really don’t know where my life went so very right. Also, for those of you who have seen the Drarry porn video out there: we deserve so much better.

**Chapter 33: Gussied Up**

   If there was one thing Molly Weasley loved as much as her children, it was her grandchildren. At the latest Weasley get-together, her attention was entirely focused on Hermione’s practically indistinguishable bump.

   “It’s all so exciting,” Molly said with a gigantic, bright smile. The skin around the corners of her mouth crinkled.

   George gave his little brother a big pat on the back. “Our little Ron’s finally done it!” Even Percy had to smile at that.

   “I did have some help,” Ron pointed out, receiving a playful roll of Hermione’s eyes.

   “Then here’s to Hermione Weasley,” Charlie beamed, holding up a glass of sparkling grape juice in order to make up for their sister-in-law’s inability to consume alcohol for the next eight months.

   The rest of the ginger clan cheered in response and took a sip. Even Fred Jr. sat on his mother’s lap with a plastic cup of his own, blissfully unaware of the sexual innuendo going on around him.

   However, none could match Molly’s exuberance. She lit up like a Christmas tree every time the new soon-to-be grandchild was mentioned. “All of you are growing up so fast,” she said, putting a hand over her heart. “It was only yesterday that Ron was going off to Hogwarts and Ginny developed a celebrity crush on Harry.”

   “ _Mum_.” Ginny really didn’t need to be reminded of that phase in her life.

   “Yeah, she hates remembering all the poofs she’s dated,” George said with a cheeky grin.

   Ginny crossed her arms so that she made her own little nook on the Burrow’s biggest couch. “It was _just_ Dean and Harry.”

   “Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice…” her brother pushed on.

   “How did this get to be about me instead of Hermione?” Ginny asked, cutting George off before she had to smack him. “I will be in charge of the baby shower, by the way.”

   Hermione had nearly forgotten about all of that. All of the fanfare associated with children had never really been introduced into her life until Ron’s family was. “Thanks, Ginny. Don’t worry, I don’t want anything big.”

   Molly seemed to have other ideas. “I could lend a hand,” she offered. “With the food preparations, gift registration—“

   “That really won’t be necessary,” Hermione said as gently as possible. Her mother-in-law’s idea of ‘lending a hand’ may have worked for some of the Weasleys, but the last thing she needed was another registration spree with Molly. Her wedding had been quite enough.

   “Oh, sweetheart,” Molly cooed, mistaking her tone for bashfulness. “I know how busy you are with work, and I wouldn’t dream of making Ginny take off from her Quidditch stardom—“ It wasn’t actually stardom, but every one of her kids was a star in Molly’s mind. “—so all you have to do is owl.”

   “Speaking of registration,” Arthur broke in a few moments too late, as he came down the stairs with a muggle device known as a ‘Game Boy’ bleeping loudly in his hands. “Have we gotten around to making Harry and Draco’s gift yet?”

   “Almost done,” Molly announced proudly, pointing to the back of the living room where she did her knitting. Along with a generous gift-certificate to a magical appliance store were two matching ‘Malfoy-Potter’ Christmas sweaters. One was in a brilliant green, while the other in a stunning red that Molly looked forward to seeing around Christmas time.

   Charlie smiled to himself. With their mother around, nobody close to her would ever go cold.

   “Fantastic,” Arthur declared. He took a seat on the other side of the room and returned his full focus to beating the current level of gameplay in order to further understand why muggles liked these so much. It was fascinating.

   “And our Harry is getting married,” Molly sighed, another wave of nostalgia coming over her. She still saw that little boy she had met at the train station, but it was juxtaposed next to the confident man he had become. Strong, poised, and everything Molly had hoped for him. Even that Head Auror position was in his grasp by the time a new Minister was appointed.

   Even Percy couldn’t help but feel warmer inside from the motherly glow about Molly. “How has the planning been going?” he asked Ron, overestimating how much he knew about his best mate’s schedule.

   “It’s been good,” Ron answered with a nod. He looked to Hermione for confirmation, and she seemed to be equally as in the dark. So, their hands found each other and they continued to nod.

   “Harry has been too busy to fill us in on too much,” Hermione admitted.

   “I’d be busy too if I had a flamboyant Malfoy hauling me around to every bridal shop in existence,” Ginny grinned, receiving a laugh from her family members.

   Ron leaned forward, trying to grasp what bothered him about that harmless statement. Within his emotional range of a teaspoon, and with about a half a minute of soul-searching, he figured it out. “I wouldn’t say flamboyant. Maybe… Particular. Decisive. Domineering…” Ron lost track of where he was going with that one. “And, yeah. I guess flamboyant,” he ended lamely.

   For a moment, it sounded as if Ron Weasley had been trying to humanize Draco Malfoy. Hermione was impressed, if not shocked. Even Ginny seemed to like his rewording.

   “What are those two up to, anyway?” Hermione asked, having been so wrapped up in work and family that she had forgotten about her other brother. Harry, of course.

   A slow grin crept over Ron’s face. “Harry actually told me what they’d be doing after work today.”

   “Should I cover Fred’s ears?” Angelina asked warily.

   “Oh, they’re just shopping for the honeymoon,” Ron informed them, sitting back to watch the different reactions show on his family’s faces. Charlie looked intrigued, George licentious, Bill uninterested, and Molly doing her best not to look disturbed—she unsurprisingly came up short. Harry was her son, and she had never made it a hobby of learning what her sons did in bed.

   Luckily, her saving grace had come. From the kitchen there was a chime signaling that the roast gammon was ready to be spread around the table. “Dinner!” Molly announced, relieved.

   Children and all, the Weasleys got up to share a meal with one another. Strangely, Ron thought, the only thing missing from the picture was Harry and that particular, decisive, domineering fiancée of his.

******

   When Harry and Draco stepped into the shop, it felt like a portal into another world. A dimly lit, leather-coated world that made the hair on the back of Harry’s neck stand up in excitement. Admittedly, they’d been to the store at least a hundred times over their years in London, but it still made Harry as thrilled as the first day they had entered. _After all, you never forget your first._

   At first, Harry had been a little disconcerted by the fact that Draco knew all the employee’s names. Once he had gotten past that, he was a kid in a candy shop. A strange parallel, but it felt fitting.

   “Kyle,” Draco nodded to the dark-skinned man dressing a mannequin in a tight purple teddy with black lace around the edges.

   “If it isn’t my favorite customers,” he grinned. His gold tooth would have shined if the light was bright enough to bounce off of it properly. Harry had always joked that it was so dark as to hide the merchandise at night so that any roving Aurors would skip over them for inspection. “I saw your wedding news in the papers. Trying the ol’ flame going?”

   Draco hated that phrase, and Harry practically heard him grinding his teeth. “Yes,” he offered for Kyle’s sake. Not everyone knew Draco like the back of their hand. Or, in some case, the palm of their hand.

   “Congrats!” Kyle called out as he swooped down from the mannequin display.

   The look on Draco’s face soon turned to that familiar predatory glance, prowling through shelves upon shelves of everything to do with sex, and some things that Harry wasn’t even sure had to do with anything.

   “Are we more of a ‘Princess Diamond Set’, or an ‘Indulgence Pleasure Set’?” Draco asked, holding up two boxes covered in different smoke patterns spiraling up the sides that held assortments of handcuffs, oils, and rose petals within.

   Harry raised an eyebrow and walked over to rest his head on Draco’s shoulder for a better look. “What does that even mean?”

   “Not sure,” Draco admitted, trying to read the back of the boxes of color-coordinated sex toys. “I think one of these has chocolate lube.”

   “Then is there even really a question on the matter?”

   “Good point. Now be a love and fetch me one of those little baskets.”

   Even without clarification, Harry knew what he was talking about. They had almost died of laughter when the store introduced them, since they looked like something you’d find in a grocery store, but they had at least proven helpful.

   When Harry got over to the stack of baskets, a particular item next to them made him have to adjust his glasses. “ _Draco_.”

   “Hm?” Draco asked from the other side of the store.

   “ _Get over here_.”

   Entirely in the spirit of getting a laugh out of this place, Draco brought the box over only to see exactly what Harry had pointed out. “Holy fucking shit. We’re buying it.”

   Harry wasn’t exactly a blushing virgin, but he could feel his cheeks heating up. “No way!” he responded firmly. “This… I don’t even know how to feel about this. Violated, maybe?”

   “If we buy all of the ones in the store, then nobody else could,” Draco pointed out.

   Maybe it was Harry’s frazzled nerves but that almost made sense. “I don’t want to give whoever made this our money. Especially that much of it.”

   “Well, let’s see,” Draco grinned, reaching down to look for a price tag. “Seven galleons to fuck you? I always thought it would be more.”

   Still emotionally disturbed, Harry looked back down at the hanger that held at least ten boxes of ‘The Boy Who Dived’, a blow-up sex doll stuck in between a dirty-looking ‘Queensley Shacklebolt’ and a ‘Gilderoy Cockheart’.

   When Draco saw the shock and horror written across Harry’s face, he strung an arm around him. “ _Every_ celebrity has a sex doll. I'm mostly offended that they didn’t make one for me,” he shrugged. “Look, there’s ‘Rita Skeet-her’. Ah, sweet poetic justice.”

   “Nutter,” Harry decided, shaking his head. “Everyone. Completely mental.”

   “It probably doesn’t even look like you,” Draco comforted him with a pat on the shoulder. “None of them ever do.”

   “And how would you know?”

   “Well, it’s just the truth!” he replied defensively. “Plastic can only imitate so much. We should buy it, though, just to see—“

   “I don’t think I _want_ to,” Harry murmured.

   After the last mannequin was laced up in her corset, Kyle noticed the object of his customer’s fascination. “Ah, you found those?” he asked with a lecherous smile. “I usually sell ‘em in pairs, but Draco’s keep flying off the shelves—“

   “I have one?” Draco asked with far too much enthusiasm. Harry groaned.

   “’The Dragon’,” he said proudly.

   That completely deflated Draco’s mood. “’Dragon’? That’s barely even clever, you know. I could think of far superior names.”

   Bewildered, Harry looked back at his own doll’s box. The outside featured a model that looked only slightly like Harry with some exaggeratedly thick glasses, but the man was thinner and practically hairless except for a mop-top on his head. In one of the pictures, you could tell that the model was wearing gauges. It was definitely sacrilege in Harry’s eyes.

   “Like what?” Kyle challenged.

   Draco didn’t even need a moment to consider his options. “Draco Mal-Toy, Draconian... Though I don’t think your average customer would be fluent in Latin,” he lamented. “You could always do the play on words with ‘Draculo’, for a vampire twist.”

   “You’re insane,” Harry decided before washing his hands of the conversation entirely and walking over to another aisle; any aisle but that one.

   As the talk of ‘Dracker’ versus ‘Dracophilia’ faded, Harry found himself surrounded by whips, crops, and floggers of all fashions. When he had to awkwardly coerce Ron into telling him what sex was—since the Dursleys weren’t about to any time soon—he had never quite pictured it like this. Harry always thought it was supposed to be neat, orderly, pain-free, and at the time, with a girl for the sole purpose of having children.

   Oh, how times had changed.

   With Ron’s latest talk about the ‘Most Ridiculous Night of Harry’s Damned Life’ that the bachelor party had been dubbed, at least Ron could be adaptable to some changes. Harry tried to tell him over and over again that he was plenty satisfied with what Draco had to offer him in private, but Ron was hell-bent on celebrating his last day of being ‘single’. Harry hadn’t been single since ’03, but that was just a technicality.

   Harry was jarred from his thoughts when a sharp ‘thwack!’ came down behind him. He spun around to see Draco holding a heart-shaped paddle, after having slammed it on the shelf. “Like it?”

   Reaching out, he took the wooden instrument in his hand. Even the handle was detailed with hearts. “All depends on how you use it,” he said casually.

   “Touché,” Draco said, the basket in his left hand now filled with toys. “I’ve got a few selections, and then we can look at what you’ll be wearing under those dress robes.”

   “So long as you don’t ever mention those bloody dolls again, I'm all for it.”

   Draco held his hand out as if they were going to shake on it, and Harry laughed. He took his fiancée’s hand and dragged him over to a suspicious-looking couch nearby. Luckily, nothing bit them or clamped down when they took a seat.

   “What’ve you got?” Harry asked, a hand reaching out to inspect what they would be corrupting the Malfoy’s Bermuda estate with.

   A sharp pain shot across Harry’s hand when a switch gave it a smack. “So impatient,” Draco scolded. “I’ll show you.”

   “Fine,” Harry huffed, giving Draco’s neck a nip.

   “Vibrating cock ring,” Draco showed him first, revealing a packaged black rubber ring with an extension for scrotum stimulation. Harry never quite understood when people said the world was ‘going down the drain’, or that they were ‘losing faith in humanity’, when this clearly indicated the opposite. There were people in the world who were _paid_ to make things like this. Paid to test them, paid to imagine them in a think-tank before production, and paid to produce them in factories.

   Harry considered it an achievement in the name of the human race.

   He gingerly took the package from Draco and turned it over in his hand. “Wonderful.”

   One by one, they inspected the prices, make, and colors of the different devices, since Draco so heavily insisted on color schemes not being limited to their wedding plans. After all, entire industries were based off of the visual aspects of sex.

   The part that Draco had really been looking forward to involved Harry and a dressing room. With Kyle off trying to pitch a dildo sale to man who kept repeatedly claiming he was straight, Draco grabbed the opportunity.

   “Come on,” he said, taking Harry’s hand. “Let’s go get you all gussied up.”

   That would be the first and last use of the word ‘gussied’ in relation to wearing cross-dressing, revealing lingerie. Ever.

   Harry followed as he was swept away into the other side of the store, grabbing the basket right before they took off. Draco was almost _too_ eager about this. Maybe all that centerpiece arranging had gone to his head.

   Just earlier that day he’d had a crisis with the bakery who hadn’t received their cake topper yet. Irate, Draco had marched down there himself to fix the two groom figures side-by-side on the cake. Draco on the left, mirroring how they slept in bed together. Nobody else would know that, but _he_ would.

   After all, it was _their_ wedding and that was the cost of perfection.

   “Here,” Draco said, immediately gravitating towards a green and black corset with matching satin panties.

   “Such a Slytherin,” Harry sighed, browsing for his size.

   “You look stunning in green,” Draco defended.

   Harry smirked. “You think I look ‘stunning’ in anything that barely covers my arse.”

   “What can I say? You’ve got a stunning arse. Now grab one of these.” Draco motioned to a skimpy pink nightie.

   “Plan on fucking me in my sleep?”

   Draco snorted. “I just want you looking pretty when I wake up in the morning.”

   “As opposed to?” Harry asked in mock-offence.

   “Well,” he murmured, running a thumb over his chin. “I am rather fond of your bedhead.”

   “Exactly. Now what about this for you?” Harry closed his hand around a hanger with a ‘sexy nurse’ costume, complete with a stethoscope and plastic red heels. The plunging neckline and universal medical ‘plus’ signs were probably better suited for a woman, but that had never stopped them before.

   “I do quite enough hospital work. Something else,” Draco said, turning to look through a bin of thongs, half amused and half serious.

   A broad grin came across Harry’s face as the whole world of inappropriate Halloween costumes opened up before him. “Pirate wench? Sexy cat? Okay, just kidding, that one freaks me out.”

   “I like the first one,” he decided. “Lots of opportunities for ‘booty’ puns.”

   Harry burst into laughter. “Very true.” He’d have to include that in his vows. Something about how natural it was for Draco to be so _funny_. The only problems ever arose when Harry laughed when Draco wasn’t trying to be funny.

   Finally, Draco had come upon what he was looking for. “Here!”

   “Hm?”

   “You know that phrase my mother was talking about?” Draco reminded him. Well, his father had talked about it, but most things sentimental out of Lucius’ mouth required help from Narcissa. “Well, since _you’re_ so fond of muggle traditions…”

   “The ‘something old, something new, something borrowed, something—‘?”

   “Blue,” Draco cut in, dangling a royal blue garter belt in front of his face.

   “Merlin,” Harry laughed out. “Under the dress robes?”

   “Under the dress robes,” he smirked. “All of those beautiful photos, the well-wishes from the Weasleys, and all the while underneath it all you’re still my little slut.”

   The idea piqued Harry’s interest. “I didn’t know you could make walking down the aisle dirty, but congratulations! You’ve done it,” Harry said, pulling him in for a kiss.

   Draco grabbed his hand and began to make a mock-acceptance speech. “I’d like to thank my parent’s twisted DNA for making me as gay as humanly possible, my friends who have done such a wonderful job of corrupting me at a young age, and of course, the one and only Harry Potter. The man who’s going to be my husband.”

   “I'm honored,” he murmured, giving Draco’s knee a squeeze.

   “As you should be. Now let’s put these on.”

   Harry and Draco darted to a dressing-room and closed the door behind them. Thankfully, there was a mirror inside so that they wouldn’t have to parade around town just to get a good view of themselves.

   Once they were securely inside, Draco pushed Harry up against the wall with a crushing kiss. Harry dropped the garments in his hand immediately and sunk his hands into Draco’s silky hair. “You just wanted to get me alone,” Harry grinned against his lips.

   “You’ve uncovered my master plan.” Draco’s hands flew to the hem of Harry’s shirt and pulled upwards. The shirt flew off of his shoulders the warmth was quickly replaced by Draco’s mouth, covering him in kisses. Tufts of hair tickled Draco’s cheeks as he moved down, sinking to his knees.

   Harry felt a little pathetic that he was half-hard from just kissing and light touches. His head dipped back to let out a moan as Draco unzipped his fly and pushed his pants and trousers down around his ankles.

   “Naughty,” Draco teased when he saw how hard Harry was. All he wanted was to watch Harry squirm. Down on the floor, his hands closed around the green and black panties. “You’re going to have to earn your pleasure. Lift up your foot.”

   He did as he was told and hiked the garment up around his waist, reaching down for the matching corset.

   Draco rose back to his feet and let his fingers slide up the side of Harry’s leg. Over Harry’s shoulder, he could see his smirk reflected in the mirror. “I’ll lace you up.” He gave his neck a quick kiss before molding the panels of the corset around Harry.

   Harry’s nipples perked up at the rush of cool silk closed over him. With his glasses on, Harry could see himself in the full-length mirror as Draco tugged the strings behind his back. Some voice in him was mumbling about how ridiculous and unnecessary this all was, but he’d learned to tune that out. He liked what he liked and being ashamed took up too much of his energy.

   “There,” Draco said, looking down at his handiwork. The corset wasn’t terribly restricting, but it squeezed in around Harry in just the way he wanted it to. “Told you it’d look stunning.”

   Where Draco saw stunning, Harry saw a strangely altered version of himself that made his already stiff cock push out onto the silk. “I like it,” Harry said breathily, leaning back onto Draco. They slipped between their roles seamlessly when they messed around like this, like it was the next natural step for them. That of course didn’t mean a nice, vanilla roll in the sack couldn’t satisfy them. In all honesty, Harry _was_ pretty easy when it came to Draco.

   “Then we’ll buy it. Now put on the blue pair.” Draco undid the top knot of the corset and watched imperiously as Harry undressed himself. Harry could feel his eyes travel down his spine, vertebrae by vertebrae and inch by inch until they reached his now-bare arse.

_This is probably how sheep feel before dragons swooped down to devour them alive,_ Harry thought with a lingering smile as he pulled on the next selection.

   “At least it’s comfortable,” Harry commented as he turned to get a better look at himself in the mirror.

   “I honestly don’t know how I can take you to a sex shop and listen to you talk about comfort,” Draco laughed.

   “One of us needs to be practical.”

   “Thank Salazar it’s not me,” he murmured into Harry’s skin. “Ready to see my precious booty, matey?”

   “Always am,” Harry replied with a laugh.

   Draco stripped off his pants and shirt without the usual fanfare just to get them off quickly. Harry wasn’t the only one now sporting a bulge of arousal in his trousers. Or, now _out_ of his trousers. He slipped on the purposefully tattered striped skirt and pillowy white bodice where breasts would have been before tying on the little vest.

   “Shiver me timbers,” Harry said, almost unable to keep a straight face with the joke. After a moment of silence, both of them burst into laughter. Draco’s face was sure to crack from him smiling so much.

   “Oh, _captain_ ,” Draco cooed jokingly as he leaned on Harry’s shoulder. “Hoist the sails.”

   “They’re already up,” Harry said poignantly.

   “Ah, right.” Draco said, spinning Harry around to face him and shoving their hips together. “There is always that.”

   With a lazy smile on his face, Draco worked Harry’s prick out of the frilly underwear. His strokes were slow and steady, his eyes never leaving Harry’s. “Yours,” Harry managed after the first few pumps.

   “Hm?”

   “Yours, too.”

   Draco raised an eyebrow before shoving a hand down the front of his black-on-red striped skirt and tugging his cock out. Their shafts lined up and warm skin rubbed as Draco’s hand stroked them in tandem, pushing Harry back up against the dressing room wall.

   Harry’s breathing faltered. “Fuck, Draco,” he moaned before pressing their foreheads together.

   “So,” Draco murmured, breaking up his sentence between rough kisses. “fucking gorgeous—” His thumb pushed down on the tips of their cocks. “—when you—” Harry messily thrust up into Draco’s hands, now pumping hard. “—dress up for me.”

   “Draco,” Harry groaned recklessly before he got a kiss square on the mouth to drown it out.

   “You know I like it when you’re loud,” Draco panted, hands still pumping while Harry’s nails sank into his back. “But it’s not the flat, dear.”

   Harry, maddeningly enough, found himself laughing again in Draco’s grasp. The laugh was cut off by another moan when Draco’s hand closed tight around both of their erections.

   Grey eyes fixed in concentration, it didn’t even take Draco another stroke to have both Harry and him coming with a corporeal shudder. The pirate’s costume was stained, but Harry’s ceremony undergarments seemed to be just fine.

   Crumpled and sated, Draco rested most of his weight on Harry, who thankfully was supported by the wall. They panted together, smiling like a couple of idiots.

   “Everything fitting right?” Kyle called from outside, and Draco had to wonder how long he’d been there.

   “Just great,” Harry called back before falling into another fit of laughter.

   Draco gave his neck a big, wet kiss before joining in with him and wrapping his arms around Harry’s waist to hold him tight.


	34. Flash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Different kinds of camera flashes. Some cold, some warm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wanted to get into some of the themes I brought up earlier in the story, and this seemed like the time to do it! Also, I suppose this is a little trigger-y too with a mention of a panic attack and Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. Thanks for reading; you guys are the absolute best human beings.

**Chapter 34: Flash**

   Harry had been waiting for this moment so long that it was surprising how nervous he was. The sound of metal forks on ceramic plates pervaded the room, but all Harry could hear was Draco’s laughter beside him.

   “You’re mad, Sirius. Completely and totally barking mad,” Draco decided, a smile still lighting up his face.

   “I'm glad you think so,” his ‘auntie’ said. “I do bark quite a lot.”

   Remus rolled his eyes. “Oh, we all know _that_.”

   Giving his cheek a quick kiss, Sirius leaned across the table as if he was going to tell Draco and Harry some huge secret. “He’s just grumpy because I woke him up at four in the morning.”

   “With _barking_.”

   “There were squirrels, Moony. You know how Padfoot can’t stand squirrels,” Sirius explained as if Padfoot was actually an entirely different person he had no control over. “But enough about my excellent job of guarding the house from rodent invaders. Tonight is about Harry.”

   The man in question looked up from playing with his food at the mention of his name. “It’s fine,” Harry insisted. “They might not even announce it tonight.”

   “It’s better than fine,” Draco said, giving Harry’s knee a squeeze under the table. “Kingsley’s going to be inaugurated, and that means the Head Auror position is open. Who the hell else would get it? Don’t look at me as if you have an answer for that. You’re the best at what you do.”

   Praise from Draco was usually never something that Harry would turn down, but he didn’t want to get Draco’s hopes up. He had gushed about how Lucius would love for his son to be marrying the Head Auror, and Harry didn’t want to be the source of tension between anyone anymore. It even seemed as if Remus and Sirius were holding something back that night, surrounded by Ministry workers and various gathered press.

   In fact, Harry’s suspicion about his Godfathers was spot on. Right before they’d left Grimmauld Place, Sirius had argued that the discovery in the woods shouldn’t remain a secret for so long. In the end, as most of their lovers tiffs went, Remus won out and told him to be patient. Harry would understand in time.

   “It’s not like they’ll leave the spot open for more than five minutes,” Sirius pointed out. “You’re a shoe-in.” He had already prepared his little speech about how proud he was of Harry.

   “Thanks,” Harry said modestly.

   At that moment, Harry spotted his two best friends rushing in late for the ceremony by the back door of the Ministry hall. He waved them over, happy to see that the chairs next to him would be filled with more people who supported him. After all of his hard work and excessive hours put into his job, Harry would be crushed if he _didn’t_ become Head Auror.

   “Hey,” Ron greeted him with a pat on the shoulder, grabbing the seat next to Harry’s.

   “Sorry we’re late,” Hermione explained, a flushed smile still on her face. “We were all ready to leave and then we got a little—“

   “Tied up,” her husband finished for her with a broad grin.

   Draco could have thrown up into his plate. Instead, what came out of him was a classic case of word vomit. “Most women do have an increase in sexual drive during pregnancy.” Was that out of a textbook? It might have been. Sometimes his Healer training came up in the most inconvenient of places.

   Hermione was just about to wheel around in shock and give Draco a good smack on the arm when the clink of spoons against wine glasses stopped her short. Although she managed a cutting glare for mentioning her sex life, the proceedings were about to begin.

   The hall was draped in the colors of the Ministry, with dashing purples as highlights. It seemed fitting that purple was the color of royalty, especially in this room. The three long tables that seated everyone who was anyone in wizarding politics were carved from a dark, unyielding wood. Somehow, the carpenter had managed delicate designs in the chairs and the sides, but it was mostly covered up by the dark tablecloths that shadowy outlines of tiny witches and wizards pranced over.

   “Attention,” a stout woman called from the front of the room, the one who had initiated the glass clinking. “Attention, please.”

   A hush fell over the room and Harry could see Kingsley in the front-right corner of the room, ready to enter once he was introduced. For a moment, Harry could have sworn he caught his eyes and saw a wink, but the distance and his glasses made that seem unlikely.

   “You’ve gathered here today for the new appointment of a Minister of Magic,” the woman continued until Harry recognized her as Georgia Platt, the head political advisor of the recently-late Minister. It had been a shock when she didn’t want the position herself, but Platt was the sort of person who valued privacy over fame. Harry could understand why.

   “While it is an unspeakable tragedy that our last Minister, Hubert Carter, was murdered at the hands of an extremist, we will recover. We always have. This does not mean we are callous, and forget to mourn. This only means that we have faced tough times before, and we have conquered them. Wizarding kind has always come out of disaster—whether it was war, risk of discovery, or terror plots—with losses, and with winnings.

   “Hubert,” she continued, taking a moment to say his name properly, the way she knew it with all the memories of tea and wizard chess tied up with it. “He was a victory for wizards and witches everywhere. A man who could hold together a world after its own cannibalization is one that deserves our respect and reverence. But as we laid him to rest this Sunday, we realize that we must move forward. It isn’t simply what Hubert wanted, but what he knew—and would know right now—that this world needed.

   “With the utmost appreciation for his deeds in office, we today honor Hubert Carter as a Minister who time will never forget.” Behind her, two wizards raised a painting of the old Minister up along the lines of portraits covering the wall. Carter looked less withered and wrinkled in his painting, which Harry supposed was just a kindness.

   “I would ask now for the room to take a moment of silence to honor his sacrifice.”

   Everyone’s eyes drifted down towards their plates. Whether or not they were actually thinking about mortality and self-sacrifice would never be clear. Most of the politicians had jumped at the idea of the job title being open, knowing it would cement their names in history books to come. Harry decided that they were vultures, just as Skeeter was.

   A flash of a camera swept the back of the room, reminding the cream of the wizarding crop that their actions were under constant scrutinization by the public. Did Auror Park seem too happy during the ceremony? And what about Unspeakable Wayne? Was a hardened man shedding a tear?

   Whatever cameras weren’t pointed at the crowd of Ministry workers were directly focused on Harry and Draco. Sirius, Remus, Hermione, and Ron all had their separate following legions of fans and admirers, but the wedding news had taken precedence over almost every other story. The Prophet had even begun a column dubbed ‘Wedding Watch’, which kept track of the gossip surrounding the Malfoy-Potter occasion.

   “Thank you,” Platt finished, looking a great deal more solemn. At least someone had actually thought about the dead man.

   The reporters leaned in with baited breath, whispers erupting in their midst that infected the three tables in the middle of the hall. Whichever paper got the first story out would become wildly popular. Especially whichever paper managed to grab an interview with the new Minister.

   “Now, we keep Hubert Carter in our minds as we continue on.” The phrase ‘the world stops for no man’ came to Harry’s mind, morbidly enough. “We must select a new Minister of Magic.”

   The whispers grew to a busy chatter, and even Harry found himself drawn in by Platt’s reminder. He was so distracted that he didn’t even notice how he’d grabbed Draco’s hand under the table.

   “It is my pleasure to announce,” Georgia Platt said as slowly as humanly possible. Or, so Harry imagined. “That the next Minister of Magic will be none other than Head Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt.”

   An uproar of applause and camera flashes flooded Harry’s senses. When he moved his hands to clap, he realized one was firmly held in Draco’s. “Oh,” Harry laughed.

   “’Oh’ indeed. You know what this means,” Draco told him before freeing his hand and clapping for their new Minister. Harry nodded, excitement bubbling up in his throat. He felt foolish for ever having been nervous at all. He was a Gryffindor, dammit. Confidence was as much a part of him as it needed to be. “Also, I'm limp-wristed enough. No need to fill stereotypes from squeezing so hard.”

   Harry hadn’t even realized he’d been squeezing his hand. It all felt too surreal.

   Approaching the podium where Platt had once stood was Kingsley Shacklebolt, newly appointed Minister of Magic. “Thank you, thank you,” he said, voice booming as he tried to quiet the audience down.

   Finally, talk simmered out and all eyes were on Kingsley. “I cannot find words to express how saddened I am by Hubert’s death, or words to express how grateful I am for the consideration of this position. But that would be taking the easy way out, no?”

   A rise of laughter swept over the audience. Every face had the beginnings of a smile on it, and Harry felt a strange pride of how Kingsley’s charisma had won him so many hearts.

   “So, it is with a great sense of personal responsibility for the wellbeing of our world that I accept the nomination for Minister of Magic.” The applause that followed that statement was on an entirely different level. Harry could have sworn he heard the room echoing back the claps off of the high arching roof.

   The audience was eating it up. They laughed at every one of Kingsley’s jokes, and whoops and hollers of support with his more powerful statements. Cameras flashed and quills flew, quoting every line and affirmation that they could capture.

   “…But, as exciting as this all is,” Kingsley continued after Harry had completely zoned out from all of the noise. His jaw set tight and his head was swimming. “I cannot leave the Auror department with a gap in its ranks, after the entire department has given me and the truly amazing men and women who make up that department have taught me.”

   All eyes flicked to Harry, and Hermione leaned over to give his shoulder an encouraging rub.

   “The person I’ve chosen for the job has taught me quite a lot, actually. In spite of the fact that he’s young enough to be my son, that’s never stopped him from being a leader in the field,” he said with a smile, trying his best not to look at the center table and give it away.

   “This man is no stranger to public attention, but he’s still as humble and as ever. Most of the time.” A wave of laughter swept over the enraptured audience and Draco almost yelled out in agreement. “He is a fantastic man who I believe truly loves what he does, no matter how much I yell at him.”

   Draco gave Harry a playful little shove, but the response was less than enthusiastic. It was like Harry was sitting on the edge of a cliff, and doing all he could to hold on tight. Draco gave him a concerned look and Harry forced a smile.

   This was supposed to be what he wanted. What the hell was he doing? All Harry had dreamed about being Head Auror from the first day he unpacked into a new, tiny office. His heartbeat was in a dangerous race with his mind, like one of those rolodexes in a jukebox.

   He and Draco had danced to a jukebox once. It was at some bar, somewhere in Soho…  The Star at Night! That’s what it was called. The music was as sweet as honey and flowed just as slow. Draco hadn’t known how to use a jukebox, so Harry had to teach him.

   The walls were red, dripping cherry red with vinyl records on the walls. The only light in the room had been the stars. No, not the ones in the sky; the LED lights curled to look like stars.

   Draco had been well into his third drink. Was it a martini or a firewhiskey? Harry couldn’t remember. All he could remember was the look in the bartender’s eye when he leaned forward and held a wand to Harry’s throat. Harry had hexed him so fast that his shoes had flown off.

   _‘STAY AWAY FROM ME!’_

Everything had gone black, with outlines like the crimson walls. They seeped burgundy, like the wine in Draco’s glass.

_‘Harry! What are you doing?’_

_‘We have to go! We have to get out of here—‘_

_‘What the fuck is wrong with you?!’_

Harry was just having an off night, was all. He’d apologized to Draco and the barkeep and everything had been perfectly wonderfully fine. He was just tired, was all. He needed to sleep, to go home…

   Suddenly, he was in the hospital again with a throb in his head that made him wonder if his skull would crack open. Maybe it would, and the ruby red could escape from the folds in his brain and take away the aches in his bones. Even now, his mouth tasted like bones.

_‘Maybe,’_ Draco had whispered. _‘You could talk to someone about it. Someone qualified.’_

“Harry,” Draco jarred him out of the fantasy. “ _Harry._ ”

   “Yeah?” His voice must have been a thousand miles away.

   “Stand _up._ ”

   Without thinking, Harry rose to his feet to meet a sea of cheers. Sirius had already jumped over the table to give him a crushing hug.

   “So proud of you,” Sirius repeated in his ear, pulling back only when he felt Harry’s hands on his back shaking. “Harry?”

   “Come up here, Potter. It’s about time you got this job,” Kingsley said. It was only then that Harry realized he had missed the announcement. He’d missed the announcement he’d been waiting years for and working for.

   Numbly, Harry walked forward and couldn’t even feel Sirius’ arms slide from around him. The whole room was in a frenzy over the peaceful transfer of power.

   It could have been years or seconds before Harry reached the podium, he would never know. “Thank you,” he said into the microphone the Ministry had installed. “Thank you very much.” White hot flashes of light burned his eyes, which his glasses did nothing to help. “It’s an honor.”

   He probably should have prepared a speech, but the vine of panic closing around his heart triggered a fight or flight instinct he couldn’t ignore. “I accept the position.”

   No sooner had the words come out of his mouth than he felt his stomach churn. “Thank you,” Harry said again, this time to Kingsley, before making a hasty exit out of the front of the hall.

******

   “Really?”

   “Yes, really.”

   “What the hell am I supposed to do?”

   “Just stay like that. Just like that—I’ll go get my camera.” Colin scrambled out of the bed and across Theo’s apartment only wearing a pair of boxers. Theo’s boxers, actually.

   His camera was resting in Theo’s granite countertop after being placed there at the beginning of the evening. After snatching it up, Colin thanked Merlin that it was summer. Any other season would leave him freezing, and regrettably, have to get dressed.

   “I imagine these won’t go in your gallery,” Theo said with a cheeky smile once Colin re-entered the bedroom.

   “Not in the public one,” Colin grinned.

   “So you’ve got a little shoebox under your bed filled with photos of all the men you’ve fucked?”

   Colin laughed and sprang his camera to life, running a thumb along the side of the familiar device. “It’s a little bigger than a shoebox.”

   Then, it was Theo’s turn to laugh. “Wow, you get around,” he teased.

   “And you don’t?”

   “Touché, sunshine.” Theo had taken to calling him that after seeing his hair in the morning light when he’d woken up in his flat. It was the first time Theo hadn’t immediately wanted to shake a guy awake and tell him to ‘get the fuck out of his flat’.

   “I had to do my research on you, you know,” Colin continued, aiming the camera at Theo’s bare chest.

   A flash of a bulb went off. “And what’s the word on the streets?”

   “That you’re a pretty fantastic lay. I definitely don’t argue with that, but something confused me.” Another flash went off.

   “What was that?” Theo asked, curious as he propped himself up on his elbows.

   Colin seemed to enjoy that pose even more. “Nobody could tell me anything beyond that. Nothing of substance, anyway.”

   “Glad to see you’ve become a field researcher on the subject,” he smirked.

   “I'm a dedicated guy,” Colin responded with another light bulb flash and a head nod.

   “I can see that. Any conclusions thus far?”

   A smile skipped across his mouth. “I’ve definitely got a handful.”

   “Care to share?”

   The camera found a new home at the bedside table, the precious film stored in the capsules within. “Oh, yes,” Colin said as he crawled back over the sheets. “The first should be the most obvious. It’s that you’re a whole lot more than a good lay. You’re caring, and kind, and funny, and pretty foul mouthed.”

   “Fuck right I am.”

   Colin laughed into his shoulder. “Yeah,” he murmured. “That, and I’d be very happy to call you my boyfriend.”

   Before Theo could give him as much as an ‘of course’, there was a banging at his door. The kind of ruthless knocking that could only come from someone that simultaneously loved and could care less about Theodore Nott.

   “THEO! Open this fucking door!”

   “Fuck,” Theo muttered, sinking back into the pillows.

   “Don’t pretend you’re asleep! I can hear you despising me,” Draco snapped, giving the door another quick rasp.

   “Is that…?” Colin asked, sitting up.

   “Yes,” Theo admitted a little miserably.

   Suddenly, a mischievous light set in Colin’s eyes. “Then I’ll go answer the door. Wouldn’t want to keep the Bridezilla waiting.”

   “Very wise of you,” Theo said before stealing a quick kiss. At the risk of making the night too cloying, he gave Colin’s arse a spank as he got back out of bed.

   Colin gave him one last laugh over his shoulder before stepping right over the heap of his trousers on the floor. Unabashedly, he walked to the poor, abused door and opened it as Draco was mid-knock. A once-over of Draco’s fancy robes had Colin looking just as surprised as Draco did.

   “Wow,” the Slytherin said carefully before giving him a nod. “Good on you, Creevey. I didn’t expect you’d hop in bed so soon, though. Gryffindors can be such teases.”

   “Yeah, yeah,” Colin murmured, stepping back to let him in.

   “Harassing my boyfriend?” Theo questioned, padding out of the bedroom to see what latest melodrama Draco had to burden him with. Colin’s teeth were obscenely white when he smiled.

   “Just to get to you, dear,” Draco snarked before settling into an eerily serious tone. “I’ve got a problem.”

   “Not a National Damned Emergency or a Code We’re-Fucked? Just a problem?” Theo joked uneasily, trying to get a smile on Draco’s face too.

   “Yeah,” Draco responded dryly before walking across the hall into Theo’s granite kitchen. He cracked open the fridge and grabbed a tub of cookies and cream ice-cream. If eating were a national sport, Draco would be clad in gold metals.

   Theo and Colin exchanged a concerned look. If Draco wasn’t throwing a proper tantrum, then whatever was bothering him had to be screwed up beyond belief.

   Carefully, Theo took a seat on one of his kitchen stools. He should have probably put a shirt on, but Draco had dragged him half-naked from at least a hundred clubs into the unforgiving light of day. Draco promptly grabbed a spoon out of a drawer and sat down next to Theo while Colin shifted uncomfortably and decided to excuse himself from the room to get dressed.

   After years of friendship, he knew better than to pressure Draco into telling him just what was wrong. So, even though Theo wasn’t the master of patience, he waited.

   Draco had packed away a sizable portion of the tub when he lifted his eyes up from the counter to meet Theo’s. They were mirror images, for a moment. The same breeding producing a trait that would mark anyone it touched.

   “I don’t know how to say this,” Draco admitted.

   “Just say it, then,” Theo offered. “I’ve said some pretty crazy shit to you.”

   “Yeah, but you’re usually high at the time.”

   “And?”

   “Stoner,” Draco said and snorted out a laugh.

   “Yet you still stick around,” he reminded him.

   Draco nodded. “I do.” Suddenly, a shadow lingered over his face. “And there are those two fucking words again.”

   Theo’s mouth twitched downward. “Trouble in paradise?”

   For a moment, it seemed as if Draco wasn’t going to respond. He gave Theo the Index Finger of Silence and dug one last scoop of ice-cream out of the tub. When he swallowed it, it looked as if Draco was having a sacred experience.

   He cleared his throat. “I don’t know how I'm supposed to marry a man who can’t admit that he’s got PTSD.”

   “You thought you were able to a month ago,” Theo said. “What’s changed?”

   Another bitter laugh escaped Draco. Theo’s flat was becoming a regular Chuckle Hut that night. “I stopped lying to myself, I suppose?”

   “A Malfoy overcoming a delusion? We’ll have to alert the Prophet.”

   “Oh, believe me. The Prophet already has quite enough from tonight,” Draco muttered before downing another spoonful of ice-cream.

   In his oversexed mind, Theo tried very, very hard to remember what that night was supposed to be for Draco. There were too many memories of soft thighs and kisses in his head.

   After realizing it had probably slipped Theo’s mind, Draco let out a familiar dramatic sigh. “Tonight was the night that Kingsley took office, so Harry got his.”

   “Head Auror? Damn. You’re a real sheriff’s wife now.”

   “ _Theo._ ”

   “Yes?”

   “He ran out of the building and threw up in the street. When I apparated him back to the flat, he couldn’t stop apologizing… I kept on telling him that it was fine, that I could check for a temperature, but he wouldn’t let me. But I tested him when he fell asleep. Twice. It didn’t turn up anything physical.”

   If this were a lighter occasion, Theo would have told him it was about damn time Draco saw how the war had fucked with Harry’s head. How was anyone expected to react to being hunted, publically hated, and then suddenly loved again? “So that convinced you it was mental,” he said.

   “Yeah,” Draco sighed, putting down his spoon in disgust. He was going to regret all of that later. “And I’ve been a complete moron about trying to get him help. Mostly because I haven’t tried, and it’s because…”

   “Because?”

   Draco gave him an apprehensive look. “Because it makes me sound like a second year.”

   “Tell me,” Theo said, trying to seem encouraging.

   “Honestly, it sounds like something straight out of those trashy books Greg used to read in school. I thought, you know, that I could help. That I could help enough so that he wouldn’t need to talk to anyone about it. That’s where the second year shit comes in. The stupid idea that ‘loving him enough’ could fix everything,” Draco mumbled.

   Theo shrugged. “It’s not _horribly_ stupid. But it is strangely idealistic for you, which is probably from hanging around with so many Gryffindors.”

   “I think I just liked being able to ignore it, and that became my excuse.”

   “That’s strangely introspective, too,” Theo told him. “Maybe you are ready for marriage.”

   “Maybe,” he said quietly. “And I really would like to marry him.”

   “Even with the PTSD, the want of bushels of children, and the Gryffindor ideals rubbing off on you?” Theo asked, leaning forward.

   “Even with all of that. Only, I want to help. For real this time,” Draco insisted. His ice cream had been long abandoned. “Thank fuck the Prophet didn’t follow us into the alley, _that_ would have been the story of the century. Those fucking vultures would love to see him hurt, and wouldn’t hesitate to push him. All I want is for him to be happy, and to be healthy. Mentally, too. I remember he once told me that the hypervigilance is a part of him, but I don’t think that’s true.”

   Theo gave him a pat on the back. “Harry has sort of overcome a lot of worse things.”

   “He definitely has,” Draco said with a distant smile. “Therapy can’t be much more damaging than killing Tom Riddle.” There was no way in hell that he would dream of leaving Harry, but now he was making a distinct choice. It didn’t matter how many times his father had told him that ‘Malfoys don’t go to shrinks’ as a kid.

   Draco Malfoy was sticking by Harry Potter.


	35. Rehearsal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rehearsal ceremony and dinner!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been disgustingly busy. Also, I just finished writing a seven page research paper on the Cuban economy, so I am slightly incoherent.

**Chapter 35: Rehearsal**

   Somewhere between Draco’s soothing words and his talented tongue, Harry had caved.

_“I love you, you know. So let me help you, you insufferable twat.”_

Maybe it was the juxtaposition of mental disarray and insults that made the moment all too convincing. It seemed like a decent summary of their relationship, in all honesty. The sexual vernacular only added to that.

   So through that mix of dysfunction, love, and fantastic sex that Harry’s life had become, it all led him here. Embarrassingly enough, Draco had given him a big hug and kiss before sending him off to the other side of the hospital. At least Draco had checked if anyone was around before doing so. In the trauma wing, he was working away at a man who had fallen from the Wizarding History Museum roof. It was unclear whether or not he jumped.

   Away from the action was Harry, sitting on a plush maroon chair and fidgeting himself half to death. A kind-looking old nurse had told him Dr. Sanatore would be with him shortly. Half of him felt like a completely helpless idiot for showing up, and the other half knew it was necessary.

   Muggle psychology degrees were hung on the walls, and the color-scheme was refreshingly calm as opposed to the clinical white walls of the St. Mungo’s halls. Draco would have liked it. Harry could have sworn he was in a different building. It was only then that he looked up to the dog-themed calendar on the wall, with August’s poster-dog being a chipper west highland terrier barking at the camera. “ _Fuck_ ,” Harry muttered.

   “Anything wrong?”

   Harry’s head turned over his shoulder to see the woman who opened the door. “Sorry,” he said. All Harry had noticed was that his wedding was in a week. Seven days. One-hundred sixty-eight hours. Ten thousand eighty minutes.

   “Don’t be,” the woman said with a warm smile, teapot in her hand. “I'm assuming you’re Harry Potter?”

   “You’d be assuming correctly,” Harry said, standing up to shake her hand. At least she hadn’t asked for an autograph yet.

   She returned the handshake firmly. “Good. I'm Doctor Cheryl Sanatore, and you can just call me Cheryl. Let’s not worry about titles and last names.”

   Harry nodded, his teeth worrying at the inside of his lip. Trying to sit up in the chair as she found her place across from him, Harry made a conscious effort to stop tapping his foot and ringing his hands. Only Harry Potter would want to seem normal for his therapist.

   When she noticed that Harry wasn’t going to make the first move, Cheryl did. “So, why don’t you tell me about yourself?” After summoning a couple of cups, she began to pour the tea in to create a more comfortable atmosphere. Harry could smell from afar that it was chamomile and felt immediately warmed.

   He shrugged. “You’ve probably read the papers.”

   “I have,” she admitted. If Cheryl wasn’t careful, Harry could fall asleep to that soft voice of hers. At least it was reassuring. “But I know how inaccurate they can be.”

   “Speaking of papers,” Harry transitioned in a fashion that wasn’t at all awkward. “You can’t, erm. Everything I say stays here, right?”

   Cheryl didn’t look terribly offended by Harry’s questioning, which was probably good news. “There is such thing as Doctor-Patient Confidentiality,” she told him. “It’s been replicated into wizarding law as well. Don’t worry. I have no interest in making money through selling you out; this job pays well enough.”

   Harry laughed a little nervously. “Right.”

   “Has anyone ever sold your personal information to the press?”

   “Yes,” he sighed. “Lots of times. Some people I thought were friends, and even once, a boyfriend.”

   “That must’ve been a painful betrayal.”

   “It was,” Harry said, relieved she hadn’t asked ‘how that makes him feel’, like therapists were always doing on television. That, and he would have probably answered that question with ‘devastated’, which made him _feel_ pathetic. “I broke up with him right after, and it was mostly stupid stuff he told The Prophet, but it was still total shit.”

   “Sounds like,” Cheryl responded. “Though I suppose you don’t have to worry about that now.”

   “Right,” he grinned. His wedding was common knowledge at that point, and it was at least convenient for small talk. “Draco’s… Great. Absolutely great. Not just in the sense that he won’t go screaming my secrets in the streets, but in every other way.”

   “Tell me about him.” Her voice verged on saccharine for a moment, but Harry decided to ignore it. This wasn’t as terribly painful or shameful as he thought it would be.

   “He’s fantastic. I mean, that’s why I proposed. I want to do this right, like my parents did. Draco’s my family, and the only man I want to be with. It sounds kind of cheesy, but I think he’s ‘The One’ people are always talking about. Soulmate-type stuff.”

   “Do you believe in soulmates?”

   “I'm not sure,” Harry admitted. “I think that there are a lot of people in the world that you can be compatible with, and all that. There are just some that you can be with more than others. There may not be one person for everyone, but you can get pretty close. I think I have, since I think he’s the only one for me.”

   “Are you looking forward to the wedding?”

   “Yeah. Wow, that sounded unenthusiastic, but I am. It’s just the actual planning I don’t really enjoy. The ceremony and the reception are more for Draco. I really only want to be married, and call him my husband,” he told her.

   She leaned forward in her own cushy chair. “Do you think you’ll enjoy the day?”

   “Definitely,” he nodded. “I mean, Draco’s planned the whole thing out to be fantastic. The ceremony will be fulfilling, and the reception will have good music and even better food.”

   That made Cheryl smile. “I'm glad to hear that. How many days left?”

   “Seven.”

   “Congratulations.” Harry found her sincerity disturbing. But, then again, she was being paid to do this for him. “So, what brings you here today?”

   “Draco,” Harry let slip before catching himself.

   That made Cheryl’s smile even bigger. “So he wanted you to talk to me?”

   “Yeah.”

   “Do _you_ want to talk to me?”

   That was the question of the hour, Harry supposed. “I don’t know. Draco wanted me to because he cares, but I'm… Apprehensive.”

   “Any reasons why?”

   Harry swallowed a lump in his throat. He could say the real reason, or not. His choice. “I'm not crazy, or disturbed, or sick, or broken,” Harry said, determined once the truth left his lips. “I'm a regular bloke who was destined from birth to kill Tom Riddle, had a shitty childhood, some repressed homosexuality, and lived in constant fear of death for a few years. It’s nothing I can’t just _get over_.” Half of that was supposed to be satirical, but it came out disturbed.

   Cheryl nodded while he spoke, taking it all in. “You’re right.”

   “What?”

   “I don’t think you’re crazy or broken or anything of the sort,” she told him. “And I think you _can_ get over it. You’re a resilient man, Harry Potter. But even great men need help from time to time.”

   With a nod, Harry fell back into the chair and started from the beginning.

   _Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much…_

******

   Lucius had been in a suspiciously pleasant mood since the beginning of the day, and Narcissa was starting to become concerned. “Are you ready to go?” she asked, wondering if a reminder of the wedding rehearsal would put him back in his usual dower disposition.

   “One moment,” Lucius responded from the bathroom after his combing had finished. “I still need to get my shoes on.”

   Narcissa tried to fasten on her silver and white diamond bracelet while she waited, watching her husband shift to tying his shoes while seated on their bed. “Lucius, can you—“

   Before she finished, he was on his feet and in front of her. Even though his hands ached after writing for too long, they were still able to assist his wife.

   “Thank you.” Narcissa looked up to see him smiling. She couldn’t help but get on her tip-toes to reward him with a kiss. Afterward, her fingers lingered on his cheek, caressing his freshly-shaved skin. “What has you in such a wonderful mood?”

   “One step closer to grandchildren,” he said with a grin that could have been a mirror image to Draco’s.

   “Smart aleck,” she said affectionately, taking his hand and leading them through their fireplace.

   All over London, the finest and most famous of wizarding kind were stepping into their fireplaces, apparating, and some even ascended on their brooms to meet up in the Kensington Roof Gardens, the pride of British cuisine and, bluntly enough, wealth.

   Draco and Harry had arrived an hour early to help set up. After transporting an extremely grandiose guest book with pens of different colors for _every single member of the damned wedding_ , Harry had actually _under_ estimated how extravagant the day would be.

   “No,” Draco snapped at an unsuspecting usher. “Those flowers go over _there_!” He turned to his fiancée to give him a wavering eyeroll. “I swear, some people have no eye for spacing.”

   “It’s so hard to get good help these days,” Harry said with a mock-seriousness.

   “ _Thank_ you,” Draco sighed when he didn’t pick up on Harry’s sarcasm. “Hey! What makes you think that the begonias go anywhere near the violets? Uncultured swine.” Draco stomped off after a crowd of confused servicemen to fix it his damned self.

   Harry had a genuine empathy for those poor, abused workers. He decided a large tip and an apology was in order after all of the madness was over.

   On the other side of the grand ballroom, future wedding participants found themselves awed at the decorations fit for the royal blood of old. Minerva McGonagall arrived a woman who had seen her fair share of magical creations and ceremonies. Her wedding had included some literal magic, but this was something else.

   The creamy walls reflected a soft glow, and the candles floating around the ceiling reminded her of Hogwarts. Somehow, they were different. Everything seemed to be shining.

   “Minnie!” Sirius shouted as he entered behind her. “You look radiant, my dear.”

   Minerva greeted her old student with a knowing look. “You only compliment me when you want something, Mr. Lupin.”

   “Pulling out the last name on me? Oh, how cold,” Sirius sighed, giving her a big kiss on the cheek. After all, spending all your school time either in detention or in the Forbidden Forest tended to do that to someone.

   Finally, she returned the affection with a clasp of their hands. “How have you been?”

   “Ever the chipper-er. Chipperest? Moony, get over here.” Sirius beckoned his husband away from a platter of cheese that a waitress held up with one hand. “What’s the word for when you’re even more than chipper?”

   Even Remus couldn’t figure that one out. “Chipper… Er? Who knows?”

   “Shakespeare made up his own words,” Sirius pointed out to the both of them, deciding that ‘chipperer’ was going to be a word and used with the utmost frequency. “I'm really only a few best-selling plays and poems away from being just like good ol’ Willie.”

   “Of course,” Remus grinned.

   “I happen to remember you complaining about Romeo and Juliet in a class of mine. I remember it caught my attention, since I taught _transfiguration_ ,” McGonagall said.

   “I’d like to _transfigure_ that story into something better!” Sirius saw that as an entirely appropriate way to skirt the issue of his lack of attention to school subjects. “It was unbelievably stupid. They were a couple of twelve year-olds, and they snogged at a party _once_.”

   Minerva smiled to herself. She also happened to remember a pair of star-crossed young men who caught each other’s eyes at a young age, but thankfully, there was no double-suicide, murder, or over-invested preachers to marry them.

   “Attention, everyone!” Draco called after having put the decorated arcs and chairs up all on his own while some dazed employees watched. “If you could all file outside, we could finish the rehearsal of the ceremony quickly—without any disruptions. As incentive, I will remind you that it’s traditional to have a rehearsal _dinner_ afterwards.” He would never be above using food as a manipulative device.

   Ron’s head perked up at that, and even his father heard his stomach rumble. “Come along,” Molly said, guiding her gaggle towards the ceremony garden. Behind them followed the Lupins and McGonagall with Hagrid joining her, Harry’s Gryffindor friends, Draco’s Slytherin friends, and last but never least, the Malfoys.

   “Doesn’t this remind you of our wedding?” Narcissa asked, strung on Lucius’ arm.

   “I think Draco has a little more pomp and circumstance to his than we ever had,” he commented airily, watching his only heir lead a swarm of shouting wedding guests up the glass stairs and out of the building to the altar. “I hope they can pay for it with their _joint account_.”

   Narcissa shook her head and laughed, following her husband up. When she finally got a look outside, something right beneath her ribcage swelled. The floating orbs of light illuminated the gardens, but were almost unnecessary with the brilliant starlight overhead. This was where her baby was getting married. She knew she could only ever get away with calling him that in her head.

   Draco kept it to himself how the gardens utilized an enchanted barrier around the gardens to make the night sky brighter if only to see the looks of awe and wonder on his friend’s faces.

   “Shit,” Maggie said in approval, nodding her head. “You really know how to throw a party, Draco.”

   “Of course I do.” Draco’s confidence rolled off of him as he strode out to the end of the lilac silken aisle cover, motioning for Harry to follow. “Now,” he said as he walked. “I’ve told all of the groomsmen and groomsmaids which order they’re walking down in, so I hope you paid attention.”

   There were mumbles of ‘right’ and ‘sure’ as Draco turned around. With a swish of his wand, the chairs appeared for the guests who wouldn’t be walking down the aisle with them. “Everyone else, kick back and watch.”

   “You know how much he likes it when people watch,” Pansy murmured to her girlfriend, the both of them bursting into a fit of giggles. Thankfully, Draco’s parents were out of earshot.

   Giggling aside, Pansy and Maggie weren’t about to make Draco any more strained than usual. He always got so snippy when that happened. “What now?” Pansy asked after taking her position across from Theodore Nott. Sirius would give them the signal when it was time to start, and Ron and Hermione would follow after.

   Behind them, everyone was paired off in couples. Women on the left, men on the right. It alternated which groom they originally befriended, having a cocoa couple for every lavender pair.

   “Perfect,” Draco said, relieved that even Luna had remembered where to go with precision. Perhaps she was put in Ravenclaw for a reason after all.

   With a nod to Sirius, the rehearsal ceremony began. After Draco had to teach the flower girl and ring bearer how to properly walk down a bloody aisle, it was the adults’ turn. Theo begrudgingly gave Pansy his arm, but they walked down the aisle with an unmatched grace. Ron and Hermione’s walk was… Passable, at least. It wasn’t horribly embarrassing.

   Greg and Maggie followed, with Neville and Luna close behind. The last pair had been difficult for Draco to put together, however. It was Ginny and Blaise, which clearly mixed sides of the aisle. If only Draco had some more female friends and Harry had some more male ones.

   However, being famous for a war was not the best ingredient to start new friendships. The only person Draco had met who wasn’t a part of the war and wasn’t either pitiful of him, angry at him, or adoring of him was Maggie. One woman out of thousands whom Draco had come across over the years; it felt good that Pansy was with someone who finally had enough intelligence and understanding to find their way out of a paper bag and into the real world.

   As Ginny and Blaise walked down the aisle looking at anything but each other’s faces or their intertwined arms, Draco realized it was his and Harry’s turn.

   “Oh,” Harry said quietly, as he realized too.

   Draco offered his arm, and thanked his lucky stars that his father hadn’t insisted on walking him down the aisle. _That_ would have been a nightmare.

   Harry held tight and walked with him. It wasn’t exactly their big wedding walk, but his stomach still felt fluttery.

   “There they are,” Sirius grinned, standing with a copy of ‘Hogwarts: A History’ at the end of the aisle in place of a Bible. After all, it was the only book they had lying around that Remus was willing to spare. “The men of the hour. So, how are we doing this?”

   With their friends lined up, Draco’s men and maids on one side, and Harry’s men and maids on the other, Draco and Harry took their respective places with their hands clasped in the middle.

   “We’re not doing anything now,” Draco assured him. “This is just when we’ll read our vows, and then you’ll do the wand bonding and all that.” Out of his pocket, Draco waved a wrapped-up scroll of paper.

   “You’ve finished yours?” Harry asked, surprised.

   Draco cocked an eyebrow. “Of course I have. Haven’t you?”

   “Er,” he scrambled for an answer. “Yeah, I have.” Out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see Remus shaking his head.

   “Good.” Draco tucked a stray strand of hair behind Harry’s hair and smiled, knowing the man was lying out of his teeth. But he was lying _for_ Draco, and that was entirely acceptable to him. “I bet they’re fantastic.” Adding a little pressure was only some harmless fun.

   “Right,” Harry nodded, cursing himself for mentioning it at all.

   “Alright, alright, so, I ask for objections and all that, and then I wed you,” Sirius said, eyes looking up as he went through the list in his head. “Then what?”

   “Then,” Draco said as if he’d been waiting to say it all that day. “You go down to the reception hall, where Harry and I will make our grand entrance. Then comes our first dance, booze, dinner, and cake.”

   That got a cheer out of every member of the wedding party for many different reasons.

   “What are we doing sitting here, then?” Blaise desperately needed a drink.

   “Finishing the rehearsal! Now shut up and we can get on to the dinner,” Draco huffed, turning back to Harry.

   “Fine,” Blaise mumbled.

   After a few more notes from Draco on how the groomsmaids were to properly hold the ‘priceless’ bouquets, he launched into an explanation on wedding photos. “Now, I know you’ll all be hung-over from the night before,” Draco sighed. It really hadn’t been the best idea to place the bachelor party the night before the wedding. “But I’ll have potions for that, courtesy of Theo.”

   The other Slytherin rolled his eyes. Leave it to Draco to give him an order five days before it was due.

   “We’ll meet in the botanical section of the gardens for pictures, and you better look fantastic. Remember, hair down for the ladies, curl it with a spell, and men don’t you dare forget your cufflinks.”

   “Yes, sir,” Ron joked, obviously not knowing the weight of that word in Harry and Draco’s relationship.

   “Exactly,” Draco said. “Everyone got that?”

   “Yes,” the hungry crowd boomed. Narcissa smiled to herself, noting that Draco looked like his father when he gave commands.

   “Then let’s eat.”

******

   Well into his fourth glass of champagne, Ron felt that if Hermione couldn’t drink, he would just have to drink enough for the both of them. She was engrossed in some conversation about politics with Ginny, but turned around when he gave her a tap on the arm. “Should I be making a speech?”

   “Usually the parents do first,” Ginny whispered over her half-depleted third course. She had no idea how people were supposed to eat seven of these for every dinner.

   When Ron tilted his head in order to think about it, Hermione put a hand on his thigh and clarified. “Yes, you should definitely make a speech.” Hermione Weasley may have been accepting of Harry’s future husband, but Draco’s family was another story.

   With a nod, Ron clinked his spoon against his champagne glass. However, the drunken Gryffindor hadn’t realized his Auror strength. After the first ring as clear as a bell, the second rasp of the spoon on glass shattered the carefully carved glass. Were those engraved?

   Draco made an enraged noise that worried Harry, so he cast a quick ‘Reparo’ in Ron’s defense. Thankfully, the glass shards flew back together before Draco could leap across the table and strangle Ron.

   “He does it again,” Draco hissed under his breath at Harry. “And I will hurt him.”

   With a pat on the knee, Harry gave him a placating kiss on the cheek. “The glass can be fixed, Draco.”

   “Glass and _diamonds_.”

   Harry would have rolled his eyes if he wasn’t giving Ron an encouraging look.

   “Right, sorry ‘bout that,” Ron said, raising the repaired glass. At least he wasn’t slurring his speech. “So, as the Best Man of our Harry here, I get to return the favor of what he did to me at my wedding.”

   Draco raised an eyebrow, wondering what his Saint Potter had done.

   “You might not all remember, but he told the story of my—“ Ron turned to motion to Hermione, who shook her head. She loved that man, and that man was drunk. “My beautiful wife and my first kiss.”

   Somehow, Draco felt like he was missing something. He imagined the two Gryffindors had kissed under mistletoe out of chance or something equally cliché. After all, he hadn’t exactly been invited to their wedding.

   “All in good fun,” Harry reminded him, wondering where Ron was going with this. From the confused look on Draco’s face, he’d have to explain their mid-battle snog to him later.

   “Yeah, yeah,” Ron laughed, one hand moving to keep himself steady on the chair. “Well, I decided I'm going to tell a story in your honor, and this one is about how I found out Draco and Harry were… Involved.” A drunken flourish of his hand added his own flair to the speech, and at the end of the table Sirius was beaming with pride. It was exactly how he had acted at James’ rehearsal.

   “You really don’t have to—“ Harry cut in quickly. After all, it was a private moment.

   “Oh no,” the Best Man returned with a wag of a finger. “ _Everyone_ has to hear this.”

   “Let the man speak,” Blaise urged from the other end of the table, keenly interested in seeing smoke come out of Harry’s ears.

   Ron shot the man a grin. “Thank you, Zabini. Now, it was a bright and shiny day at Harry’s flat, and we’d gotten a break in our current case. I was in too much of a rush to look at The Prophet that morning to see that they had been caught snogging, so I used my spare key to open up Harry’s flat door.”

   Draco’s grey eyes flicked over to Harry, having never heard this little tidbit before. Much to his delight, Harry’s cheeks were getting pink. Under the reception hall lighting, it was as clear as day. “Salazar,” Draco breathed. Nothing was better than seeing Harry’s skeletons in the closet. Usually, they were strange and embarrassing, and warranted the use of a teasing nickname for a few weeks.

   “Don’t,” Harry tried. It was futile.

   Ron launched into his story. “So I walk into the flat and I start calling for him, and there he is. On his old sofa—the one that Draco threw out when they moved in together, with the holes— with, and I kid you not, a dictionary in his hand.”

   “ _Ron_.”

   “Then, all wild-eyed, Harry looked up at me,” Ron continued. “And he asks me: ‘What’s a synonym for gorgeous that rhymes with ‘perfect?’ I told him I didn’t know, and saw that he had not one—but _three_ cups of coffee around him.”

   Even Lucius was interested in the outcome of this speech. It seemed to be going nowhere and everywhere all at once, a journey into the psyche of Ron Weasley. It was like a train wreck, and he couldn’t look away.

   “So I ask him what the hell he’s doing, and he kind of curls back into the couch.” Ron did his best Harry impression. “’He hates bad grammar, you know? So the word choice better be good. I should probably buy a thesaurus.’”

   Draco laughed along with everyone else, knowing that was an entirely true statement. “I didn’t know you tried to write poetry for me after our first date,” he said, giving Harry a little nudge.

   “It was terrible,” Harry sighed. “I scrapped it seconds after; you would have hated it.”

   Before Draco could tell him how wrong that was, Ron finished off his Harry impression. “When I asked who ‘he’ was, Harry went a little mental. Finally, I got him to tell me. ‘Draco Malfoy,’ he said. ‘I'm drinking espressos so I can write romantic poetry for Draco Malfoy’.”

   That had the wedding members laughing into their champagne and fine food.

   “But I finally figured it out,” Ron said, eyes bright and eager through the haze of alcohol. “You know what synonym for gorgeous rhymes with perfect? Erect. Here’s to the grooms!” An uproar of laughter filled the room, and even Harry found himself smiling. Avoiding eye contact with Lucius at all costs, but smiling.

   “Here’s to the grooms!” Hermione echoed, raising her glass of water to meet everyone in the middle. Begrudgingly, even Lucius raised his glass. An off-color sexual innuendo wasn’t about to ruin his night as he thought of the wedding gift for Harry and Draco saved in his vault.


	36. Calm Before the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doubts, and a legal move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My goal of this chapter is to lead Antonia to an emotional breakdown. Also, holy shit, 45,000 views on FanFic and 3,600 on AO3? Holy shit. Thank you so much. This fic has given me at least a trillion other fic ideas (therapist/patient Drarry, a Very Drarry Christmas, respective rentboy fics for Draco and Harry, model/photographer Tholin, student/teacher Wolfstar, and many, many more) so I hope you’ll stick around for those!

**Chapter 36: Calm Before the Storm**

Three days left. Draco turned over in their bed, knowing Harry would be there. Draco had been awake for hours, but had spared his fiancée the disturbance of his slumber with bothersome wedding worries. It was the first time in a long time that Draco had spared anyone of his ranting and raving. Maybe he was just feeling benevolent that day.

   “Mornin’,” Harry murmured happily, his bones heavy with sleep. He leaned into Draco’s bare chest and squirmed closer for warmth even though he was already wrapped tight in his blankets.

   Draco gave his ear a kiss. “Morning, love.”

   “Time is it?”

   “Ten. Well, ten-ish. Isn’t it nice to be off from work?” he grinned.

   Harry’s grogginess slowly faded. “I’ll say,” he agreed. “Want some pancakes?”

   “Sure,” Draco said, not moving at all to allow Harry to get up and make them. “Later, though. Head Aurors need to rest up.”

   “Head Aurors also need to eat,” Harry reminded him.  Even so, there were no moves made to get up from either party. “Even the ones who haven’t spent a day on the job.”

   Draco let his hand slide up Harry’s sternum to caress his neck. “Have I mentioned how proud of you I am?” he asked.

   “Several times.”

   “Well, I’m saying it again,” Draco decided. “I’m very proud of you, my little lion cub.”

   Harry rolled his eyes but smiled all the same. “Nutter.”

   “You know, I never did get a chance to properly reward your promotion…” Draco trailed off, moving his index finger in circles at the base of his neck.

   A laugh escaped Harry. “The honeymoon is in three days, you know.”

   “I’m not a patient man,” he reminded him.

   “That’s true,” Harry reflected, turning over to face Draco and give him a light peck. The both of them needed a good shave, but neither quite cared. Stubble brushed against stubble when their kisses deepened.

   It was the calm before their storm, and they would bask in it together for as long as they could manage. In a matter of hours they would be back to setting up and placating relatives and friends.

   Everyone had gotten bawdy and wildly drunk by the end of the rehearsal dinner, and Lucius’ good mood and patience had thinned significantly. At least matters hadn’t come to hexes and spells.

   In their cups, Narcissa and Molly had almost exchanged a few kind words. Pansy laughed at Sirius’ jokes, and Charlie discussed the wizarding market with Lucius. With the aid of alcohol, they could almost pretend to be normal.

   As Draco’s hips gently shifted into Harry’s, all thoughts of normality were light-years away. They would seek their solace in each other that morning for the days ahead. They would be husband and man, or man and husband; however that went, by the end of the week.

******

   A bored Sirius was an incredibly dangerous Sirius. His boredom had led to things like The Great Pudding Incident of 1975, copious amounts of prison tattoos, and

   He’d taken off from work to help his ‘niece’ and godson out with their wedding, but as it turned out, Draco was more control freak than a sharer of power. _Slytherins. I’ll probably have to shield Harry from damage if he ever does anything wrong to Draco,_ he noted.

   Now waiting for Remus to be done with a tutoring session, Sirius was walking the halls of his alma mater. _There was where James and I pulled that prank on Bellatrix, and there was where Longbottom first kissed Alice…_

   Sirius had to stop himself when he came to the spot where Peter had gotten so sick on chocolate frogs that Moony had given him from his Private Stash that he threw up all over McGonagall’s shoes. It would have been a funny memory, her dragging him by the ear to her office, but the humor was dead on arrival. At least Filch had gotten that stain off of the floor.

   “Erm, Mr. Sirius?”

   The animagus turned around to see who was calling him such a ridiculous name and wound up having to look down. “Oh, hello there, Livvie,” Sirius said in surprise. He made up nick names when he was nervous. Thus far, Remus had only liked ‘Moony’, since the other options were, in his words, ‘disturbed’.

   Olivia’s bob was tucked behind her ears, and her hands strangely… dirty?

   “What’ve you got on your hands there?”

   “Nothing, really,” Olivia said quickly, discreetly sliding her hands into her robe pockets. “I was just… Doing some exploring around the castle.”

   Sirius cocked an eyebrow. He knew that lie all too well, even out of a Ravenclaw’s mouth. “Right, right. What exactly were you looking for, sweetie?”

   Swallowing down a lump in her throat, she was fresh out of lies. “Well,” she said, shifting on her feet.

   “You can tell me, I’m not the teacher here,” Sirius said as he crouched down to her level and gave her a grin. Remus probably wouldn’t have done anything either, in all honesty.

   “There was this _room_ ,” Olivia blurted out. “There were books and tea and even a wardrobe there full of clothes. They were _all_ my size.” She’d never had clothes like those before. Everyone from Slytherins to a stray couple of Gryffindor girls would turn their noses up at her bargain-bin flats. They were worn out on both sides, and dances were a nightmare.

   “Where?” Sirius asked, keenly interested in the cartography of Hogwarts. “What floor?”

   His grey eyes met her hazel ones. “It used to be on the fourth floor… But then it was on the fifth. I tried using the dungeon portraits to find it again.” She gave her sooty hands as evidence.

   “Good plan, but the ones near the entrance hall provide cleaner pathways.” His sage advice was delivered with the utmost seriousness.

   “Really?” she asked.

   “Oh, yeah. Especially the ones of the founders. Good ol’ Rowena’s should help you get around.”

   A curious look crossed her face. “How do you know so much about this, Mr. Sirius?”

   “First off, it’s just Sirius,” Sirius told her. “And… Well, your Professor and I got up to a few things that didn’t exactly line up with Hogwarts standard rules.”

   “Really? Professor Lupin got in trouble before?” Olivia’s eyes were wide.

   “Oh, I was usually the one who got in trouble,” he said with a devilish grin. “Remus— _Professor Lupin_ was usually more subtle than I was when it came to pranking and exploring. Possibly the most subtle Marauder to maraud these castle grounds.”

   “Marauder?” She knew what the word meant, but not why he was using it like it meant the world to him.

   Sirius gave her a small smile. “That’s a very long story, sweetheart.”

   “I’ve got time,” she responded, crossing her arms and waiting for his response.

   On his knees facing the little girl, Sirius wondered if he really had a choice at all. He was a sucker for kids. “Well, it was what my friends and I called ourselves when we made our map.”

   “Map?” Her interested was most certainly aroused.

   Damn her for being so inquisitive. “Things solidified around the time when Moo—Professor Lupin, told us that he had been bitten. We became animaguses, so we could follow him on full moons and make sure he didn’t get hurt.” _Or hurt anyone else._ “And together, we made a map so we could know every nook and cranny of this place.” _For Moony._

Olivia bit her lower lip in excitement. “Wow.”

   “It wasn’t that hard. That Professor of yours is great with a map charm.”

   “Not that it was hard,” she clarified. “That’s just… Really spectacular. Nobody would make a map for me.”

   Something about that made Sirius’ heart twist in his chest. “Oh, Liv. Do you want to know why nobody’s made you a map yet?”

   “Why?”

   “Because one already exists,” Sirius told her, reaching into his inner robe pocket.

   “Sirius,” Remus said as he entered the hall, locating his husband. The Slytherin girl he had been tutoring waved goodbye as she sprinted for the dungeon entrance. Ah, the enthusiasm for learning in grand Hogwarts. When Sirius turned over his shoulder and caught Remus’ eyes, he knew something was different. “Olivia, too. Hello, what’s going on?”

   “We’re making a legacy,” Sirius told him very seriously, pulling the seemingly-blank parchment out into the open. “C’mere.”

   Remus followed as Sirius beckoned, dropping down to one knee to keep at Olivia’s height as well.

   “I realized that Olivia is in this school all summer, and cannot seem to encounter a map anywhere.”

   Suddenly, Remus knew what was happening. “Oh, we can’t have that,” he responded with a nod.

   “Exactly,” Sirius said as his other hand found Remus’ there as they knelt on the stone floor. “Every Marauder needs a map, after all.” He presented the parchment and nodded for her to draw her wand.

   Olivia took out the light-wood rod and held it up, looking for further instructions. “This is just a piece of paper.”

   “Not if you know the magic words,” Sirius told her. “Now, here it is: ‘I solemnly swear I am up to no good.”

   That made Olivia giggle. Who knew her straight-laced (yet charmingly gay) Professor had an adventurous side? “Alright. I solemnly swear I am up to no good.”

   Ink blossomed across the cover pages, and Olivia’s breath caught in her throat. It was some ghostly hand was letting a vial of black smoke empty out on the page in different patterns and words until the words ‘ _Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs are proud to present: The Marauder’s Map_ ’ were clearly etched along the lines of a perfectly drawn Hogwarts.

   Remus and Sirius even felt a sense of wonder, and they made the map their damn selves. It was almost like their baby. Admittedly, a baby they had had with two other boys back in school that had been used for lecherous and illegal purposes, but a baby all the same. Yet there they were, giving it away.

   Gingerly, Olivia opened one of the flaps and watched the map unfold in front of her. “ _Merlin_. This is beautiful.” What really fascinated her were the footprints along with the name scrolls below them.

   Down the corridor from the Defense Against the Dark Arts room were three sets of footprints. Remus Lupin, Sirius Lupin, and Olivia Cross.

   “I can’t accept this,” she said suddenly.

   “Why not?” Remus asked, confused.

   “Moony, it doesn’t matter, she’s keeping it,” Sirius informed them both, abandoning his attempts at referring to his husband in a professional manner.

   Olivia shook her head. “It’s too wonderful. I don’t deserve this.”

   “That’s complete shi—“ Remus gave Sirius a look before he used that foul mouth of his around a student. “It’s ridiculous. Of course you do.”

   “But I haven’t _done_ anything,” she insisted, the map strangely heavy in her hands.

   Remus shook his head and tried to sound as gentle as possible. “Olivia, you don’t need to _do_ anything. It’s a gift.”

   “From one Marauder to another,” Sirius added.

   “We’re not exactly using it anymore,” Remus continued. “And this map has mischievous exploits in its very soul. So, it belongs to you now.”

   “Wow,” Olivia said again, looking down to it. Maybe she’d show it to Alex or that Hufflepuff girl who sat across from her at lunch… It seemed like the kind of map that you shared with people. “Wow.”

   Sirius looked at their map in her hands and felt a pang of sadness. That part of their life was over, but not for Olivia. It was like he said earlier; the map would be their legacy. Passed down from witches and wizards to the next generation, and the next generation after that.

   Poor Filch was never going to have a moment of peace again.

   “And when you’re done,” Sirius said, pulling out his own wand. “You have to keep the secret.” The tip of the rune-covered wand touched the parchment.

   “Mischief managed,” he and Remus said in unison.

******

   Pansy undid the clasp on the back of her dress and let it slide off. “I’ve needed this for too long,” she sighed, stepping out of her shoes and walking towards Draco.

   “Then a ‘thank you’ would be much appreciated,” he pointed out from the other side of the spa room as he dipped a foot into the piping hot water. The circular Jacuzzi was filled with a mix of Germanium, rose, and lavender oils that had formed bubbles on the surface and the spa ‘technician’ said would be ‘aroma-therapeutic’.

   Theo thought that was a load of crap, but at least it smelled nice. Rather than testing the water, he stepped in and sunk down until the water came up around his neck. “If she won’t say it, I will,” Theo announced.

   “Yeah, yeah,” Pansy grinned. “Thanks.” She sauntered over to the tub in her purple bikini without a care in the world of how expensive this would be. At the Genesis Spa, their pre-wedding deal was among their most popular, second only to their stress-relief package.

   When the masseuses had seen just who stepped into their store that day, their jaws nearly fell off of their hinges. It wasn’t every day that three celebrities waltzed in and ordered a service usually reserved for brides and their extensive amounts of bridesmaids. Greg was busy with Abbott, and Blaise had flat out refused. Leave it to Zabini to underappreciate a relaxing deep-tissue massage.

   After Pansy, Draco finally decided the water was hot enough for his taste. The pungent smell of flora filled his lungs through his nose, opening up a passageway he hadn’t even known had been clogged.

   While they talked, an attendant filled their wine glasses with a deep red arbor. “I think this is the first time since my Valentine’s Day Extravaganza that we’ve all been in a relationship at the same time,” Pansy reflected.

   “Better then when we were all single at the same time,” Theo agreed. “I fear for what would become of us left to our own devices.”

   “We found out what would happen if we were during that ski trip in ’01,” Pansy laughed. It had been anything but cold.

   Even Theo had to smile at that one. “Salazar, that was insane.”

   “Closest you may ever come to a threesome with twins, and you passed it up,” Draco sighed, shaking his head.

   “They were _brothers_! That’s wrong on so many levels. So very many,” he told them, taking a swig out of the delicate wine glass. “Even if my distant ancestors used to marry their siblings, I was not about to take _Chip and Rip_ to bed. Not both at the same time, anyway.”

   Pansy’s laugh floated off of the high-vaulted ceiling. “Their names _rhymed_? Holy fuck, that’s rich.”

   “Richer than me,” Draco agreed, smirking.

   “You’re impossible,” Theo decided fondly, looking up from his slowly-sinking perch in the water to his best mate.

   “Seriously, though. How many opportunities to you get for that?”

   “Not sure I want to know,” Theo admitted. “So, you’re the one getting hitched. Cross everything off of your sex bucket list?”

   “Everything but twins,” Draco mock-lamented before dissolving into laughter.

   “Does it count if you’ve had sex with both of the twins, just not at once?” Pansy asked, finger tracing the rim of the glass absent-mindedly.

   Draco snorted out a laugh. “Yeah, sure. Which twins?”

   “Er,” Pansy let out, gnawing at her lower lip to try and remember.

   “Wow, the day has come when Pansy fucking Parkinson has forgotten who she has fucked,” Theo teased.

   “I know their names!” she lied. “They were both girls. The Gryffindor and Ravenclaw ones.”

   “Wait, the Gryffindor ones that Harry and Ron took to the bloody _Yule Ball_? The Patil sisters?” Draco asked, leaning forward. “How have you never told me this?”

   Pansy put down her wine glass and crossed her arms. “I have my secrets.”

   “Name one,” Theo challenged. Pansy couldn’t even keep other people’s secrets.

   “Oh! Have I ever told you about the time I went to that lawyer’s apartment and he had a sex swing?”

   “Yeah,” they answered.

   “Skinny dipping with an Unspeakable?”

   “Wasn’t she married?”

   “Yes, but that’s not the point. I totally have secrets.” Pansy picked up her wineglass again to drink.

   Draco was at least amused. “Sure, Panda. Whatever helps you sleep at night.” Where had he heard that phrase before? Maybe it was from Harry.

   “Speaking of sleeping at night,” she smirked. “Maggie and I have finally sealed the deal. It was mind-blowing.”

   “I’ll drink to that,” Theodore announced, finishing up his wine.

   “My plans have worked out perfectly,” Draco sighed happily. “Pansy’s got someone who has an IQ higher than her age, and Theo has someone who compliments his dark clothing well.”

   With a disbelieving laugh, Theo came back to an upright sitting position. “You are out of your mind. I would have seen Colin at the wedding anyway.”

   “But you saw him when you came to _my_ photo rehearsal,” Draco pointed out. “So, therefore, I am the source of your happiness and good fortune. You should be kissing the ground I walk on.”

   “I have reasons to keep my mouth clean,” he retorted.

   Draco shook his head, but didn’t feel serious about a single thing he was saying. It was all hot air, like the steam rising from the hot tub. “Excuse me,” the attendant said, still starstruck by her encounter with the three not-so-heroic war veterans. “Your massage room is ready.”

   “It’s about time,” Pansy told her with a scowl. Pansy hadn’t even known that they’d booked a room for the massages, but still.

   The three rose from the spirals of heat in their swimwear and were wrapped in the finest plush bathrobes. The fabric was a brilliant white, bringing out the darker tones in Draco’s skin. Usually, he just looked even more dreadfully English next to brightly colored objects and clothes.

   Attendants guided them to a framed rice paper door, and slid it open. Inside, three luxurious and light green massage tables, padded with cushions and an open hole for their heads to rest in.

   Theo let out a preemptive sigh of satisfaction. His back was always filled with knots, or so masseuses were always telling him.

   After removing the bathrobes they practically just pulled on, Pansy, Theo, and Draco all assumed familiar positions on the slabs. “You’re a good man, Draco Malfoy,” Theo told him as he settled his head on the soft pillow.

   “I’m aware,” Draco sighed happily. “And it’s Malfoy-Potter, to you.”

   “When are you going to the court house to change it?” Pansy asked as a muscular Portuguese man began to knead all of the tension from her back.

   Draco smiled to himself, feeling a pair of soft hands start on his neck and soothed his aching muscles. The hands were covered in thick oil, seeping over him. “Tonight. We’ll also have to get the marriage license there.”

   “How official,” Theo admired.

   The hands moved down to Draco’s curved spine, right to his lumbar. “Don’t be afraid to go harder,” he told the masseuse. He was a mess of tension, and the only way those tight muscles could release was through a strong pair of hands.

   “Yeah, he likes it rough,” Pansy teased from the other side of the room. The poor woman rubbing Draco’s back nearly let out a noise. If she was one of their obsessive fangirls, she was at least being tame about it. Nothing was more bothersome than the ones who were vocally inclined.

   “You’re one to talk,” Draco pointed out. “No doubt Maggie’s soaking in a tub and rubbing the bruises.”

   The massage had Pansy in her best position for humor, so Draco wasn’t vulnerable to getting hexed. “They’re hardly _bruises_. That girl really knows how to handle herself.”

   “She’d have to, to get with you,” Theo snarked.

   “And what exactly does Colin have to do to get with _you_?” Pansy returned.

   Theo smiled. “I’m at least glad you moved beyond the pedophilia jokes.”

   “Oh, Mr. Nott, those are hardly ever far away,” she grinned.

   “Enough about us two freaks,” he finished. “Today is about our nearest and dearest Malfoy-Potter. _He_ should be the one dishing about how strange his sex life is.”

   Draco frowned at the thought of the amount of money he was going to have to pay the massage attendants to keep quiet. “Save it for the bachelor party.”

   “You’re going to be covered in strippers, cash, and penis-shaped lollipops. You’ll be lucky if you get to tell a nearby rentboy how hot he looks,” said Pansy.

   “Rentboys? I’m looking for a send-off, not an arrest,” Draco laughed.

   “Same thing. Now don’t worry that pretty little head of yours, there will be no infidelity, just naked men.”

   “Wall-to-wall naked men,” Theo assured him.

   It brought Draco back to their clubbing days. Days he could never have again. “I’m sure you’ll have no trouble with that.”

   They had never really encountered much trouble. It was all bright, flashing lights and margaritas with younger faces and less-complete ideas of what their futures would be like. All that was ahead of them were gorgeous dancing men and women and their respective apartments to shag them in.

_‘Will we ever grow old, my Peter Pan?’ Theo had asked him once, sitting in Babylon with his arm slung around Draco. His other hand held a blunt, and the smoke rose up towards the ceiling in billowing puffs. The loud thump from the speakers had them shouting to each other, and the chatter of gorgeous men and women around them rose on high. Pansy had been dancing in between two gorgeously sculpted young men in the middle of the dance floor. The rainbow lights bounced off of her shiny black hair as she laughed, shaking her hips. Her hair had been longer there._

_The blonde had just laughed at him. ‘Oh, Wendy, why would we ever want to? Just take a look at all the lost boys!’_

   Their ‘lost boys’ were getting older, too. After another date with Colin, Theo had seen a past hookup walking down the street with a pregnant woman on his arm. The clubs were filling up with younger and younger men, whom Theo thought must have snuck out of Hogwarts just to get there and grind with strangers.

   “It’s not as if he’s going to corral me in the flat and never let me go,” Draco said, trying to convince himself along with the others. “Harry likes to dance, too.”

   Pansy mumbled a half-agreement. “But you’ll never pick up a gorgeous man and kick him out of your flat in the morning again. Unless you and Harry take in thirds.”

   The idea of that made Draco’s skin crawl, even mid-massage. He’d never opposed a party of more than two when he was single, but Harry… Harry was his. All his. And he was Harry’s. “I don’t like to share.”

   “I’m pretty sure it will say ‘does not play well with others’ on your grave,” Pansy sighed airily.

   “Doesn’t matter, especially not if the name Malfoy-Potter is right above it.”

   Theo would have given Draco a friendly nudge if they were any closer. “You’re really in this for keeps.” He was impressed. “At the risk of sounding horribly sentimental, I’m proud of you.”

   “Poof,” Draco accused him blamelessly.

   “Hufflepuff,” Pansy sighed.

   “You two are berks.”

   “At least you know we’re being honest,” Draco said, for once looking on the bright side of things.

   “At least,” Theo sighed, leaning up against the strong hands that kneaded the small of his back.

******

   There it was, right in Harry’s hands. Fifty muggle pounds and a couple of name switches later, it was done. It felt strange, looking down at the piece of paper. Sure, it was card stock and adorned in a very, very British way, but it wasn’t the sort of paper that looked life-changing in the slightest.

   Wasn’t this supposed to be momentous? There were two blank places where Draco and Harry would sign their names after the ceremony, and that would make the document official. Harry had changed his bloody last name, and it all felt numb. He wasn’t ‘Harry Potter’ any longer, but he felt exactly the same. ‘Harry James Malfoy-Potter’. That would be what he signed on checks, and what he told new people that he met… Headlines would talk about the ‘Malfoy-Potters’.

   “It’s strange,” Draco murmured, his hand covering Harry’s. “Isn’t it?”

   “Yeah.” Harry felt worlds of gratitude for Draco feeling the same way as him. “It really is.”

   They leaned back onto their sofa; the thumb of Draco’s other hand rubbing the back of Harry’s neck. “It was almost too easy, you know? Who knew this whole time that we could have just walked to a government building and gotten one without event telling anyone?”

   “You would have never let that happen,” Harry grinned.

   “Probably not.”

   “Vegas is still an option, you know.”

   Draco gave his neck a nip. “No way in hell are you escaping this. Not after the gargantuan effort I’ve put forth.”

   “I know,” he said with a laugh. “I’m actually looking forward to it, you know.”

   “So am I.” Draco’s eyes were still on the marriage certificate, so his words felt like cotton in his mouth.

   A thousand things could go wrong, and they both knew it. Their drunk friends could fight and families could clash. Draco could wind up raging at the wedding employees, or worse, the wedding guests. People could arrive late and send everything into a frenzy, and heaven help them if someone objected during the marriage ceremony.

   A thousand things could also go wrong with their very marriage itself. Harry could watch one too many programs on child-rearing, or Draco could spend one too many nights clubbing and drunk. He’d never cheated on Harry before, but still Harry felt a nagging doubt that he could really ever see a settled-down version of his fiancée. Lucius and Narcissa would doubtlessly push for kids, and once Hermione and Ron’s baby came, it would be a constant reminder.

   With so many horrible ways that this could end, Harry Malfoy-Potter then decided that only crazy people got married. As he took Draco to bed, he supposed that Doctor Cheryl could have been wrong. Maybe he was crazy.


	37. Last Adventures With Lost Boys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco and Harry's last 'single' nights are spent apart, but the wedding is on the horizon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hm, trigger words… Well, there are strippers, drug use, and some slightly non-consensual lap dances. Not really sure how to categorize that. Also, yes, the Gillyweed idea originates in the Shoebox Project. If you are about to read this and have not yet read SBP, then you need to go Google it right this instant and soak in its glory. Thanks again for the views, favorites, kudos(es?), reviews, and everything! You’ve all made my search history an unsavory nightmare, and for that, I thank you with all of my heart.

**Chapter 37: Last Adventures With Lost Boys**

   “Alright! Say your goodbyes,” Ginny told the couple in their flat, surrounded by family and friends. “The next time you see each other will be when you’re walking up the aisle together.”

   Draco gave Harry a reassuring look, since the Gryffindor rather ironically looked like a stag caught in headlights. When that look didn’t prove to be enough, he reached out to give Harry’s hand a squeeze. “Please don’t look so miserable.”

   “They’re getting me strippers, Draco. _Strippers_ ,” Harry said a little mournfully, stepping close enough to his Draco to rest their heads together.

   “And you will enjoy it,” Draco commanded and gave Harry a little poke in the ribs. “Because this is the only arse you’ll be getting for the rest of your damned life.” The crowd in their living room laughed.

   Harry was still apprehensive. Mostly because Draco’s arse was the only one that he wanted for the rest of his damned life. “I love you,” he told him.

   Tucking a stray wisp of hair behind Harry’s ear, Draco let out a happy sigh. “And I love you, dear.” He gave him a kiss. Most likely, it was their last kiss until the one during their wedding that Draco had promised to dip him during. “Now go enjoy yourself.”

   Harry had a terrible feeling that his advice wouldn’t work out so well. Even so, their respective bachelor parties exited the flat with laughter echoing off the hallway walls and turning two different directions when they reached the street.

******

   There was nothing like a pack of Slytherins to make Draco feel like he was on top of the world. He was the head dragon in their pack, and even the phrase ‘Alpha Male’ came to mind.

   After all, the other men walking slightly behind him were content with staying that way. Blaise was looking forward to drinking too much to care, Greg was trying not to feel nervous about being let loose in a gay club, and Theo had his Deep In Thought Face on.

   The only two who gave Draco a run for his money were his groomsmaids. Maggie and Pansy had dressed to the nines in skin-tight dresses and heels. Even though Maggie stumbled from the height of the shoes every so often, she wasn’t entirely lost in them. Her blood-red lipstick even matched her hair, leading Draco to suspect that her girlfriend had dressed her that night.

   Pansy, of course, was in her signature little black dress. Black for mourning the end of Draco’s single life, she had said. The red lipstick mark on her neck was left entirely unaddressed, but Draco had also assumed that all this talk of being ‘single’ had Maggie marking her territory. He should have left Harry with some hickeys.

   “So, what’s the plan?” he asked, turning to Pansy.

   The night breeze picked up her hair and let it fly behind her as she walked. Well, ‘strutted’ was probably a better word choice. “First, we have a little gift to give you,” Greg cut in, handing Draco a pink paper bag.

   Hardly even balking, Draco wrestled it open while walking to find mardi gras beads galore. Each of the bachelor party guests swiped them up until there was one remaining, in a very special design. “Wow, guys,” Draco said, looking down into the bag. “Just when I thought you couldn’t be any more mature.”

   “Quit snarking and put it on,” Maggie told him with a wide grin.

   Somehow, the beige beads in the bag had been strung together in a way that most definitely resembled a penis. There was thankfully a place for Draco to put his neck, so it was draped over his black shirt. “I feel immediately classier.”

   “Did we get it close to size?” Theo teased, giving him a pinch in the arm.

   “It’s a bit small,” Draco joked back, used to their humiliating sense of humor. It was a good thing that near nothing embarrassed him anymore.

   The group around him laughed, and then Greg drew out another pink bag. Draco was getting worried. This time, fortunately, it was the cheap muggle party goods that Pansy enjoyed making fun of so much. Blaise put a light-up breast-shaped ring on every finger while Draco called dibs on the strange-looking rubber bands with the words ‘bachelor on the loose’ in bright pink along the sides.

   “We look fantastic,” Theo decided, clipping together another glow stick necklace.

   “When don’t we?” Blaise asked with a smirk.

   Greg was about to squeeze in a ‘never’ when Pansy let out a happy squeal. “Here we are!”

   Draco followed the direction that her finger was pointing towards. In reality, he heard the thump of the music before he saw the building. But when he saw it, he couldn’t look away. Neon lights were everywhere, with decorative strings of light draped along the sides. One particular neon purple sign read: ‘XXX Hot Naked Guys!’ and the one next to it read: ‘All Gay All Night!’.

   The line to get in wasn’t a concern for them like it was for most people. But what Draco figured out from walking past the men and stray women in line, it was a club called ‘Bliss’. The building used to be a warehouse, transformed into, in the words of one man on the line, ‘a pleasure palace’.

   When their gang reached the front of the line, all Pansy had to do was flash her ID in front of the bouncer. “Ah, Ms. Parkinson,” he said with an easy smile, his coffee-stained teeth showing through. “You and your party are our special guests tonight. Where’s the groom?”

   “Here!” they cried, all pointing to Draco.

   _Traitors_ , he thought to himself without any bitterness.

   The wiry man opened the door for Draco and motioned inside. “I’ll escort you to your private party room, ladies and gentlemen. And remember, what happens at Bliss, stays at Bliss.”

******

   _At least they’ve taken me somewhere halfway decent_ , Harry thought to himself, firewhiskey in hand. The bar had a rowdy-enough dance floor, but it wasn’t like any of those glitter-drenched places that Draco was always dragging him to. However, the knowledge that Ron was off somewhere planning Harry ‘sexy surprise’, as he had called it earlier, was making him strangely excited.

   So far, the craziest thing that had happened was Ron presenting Harry with a bride-to-be tiara. Harry had put it on with pride. “I think it suits me.”

   “It really does,” Ginny told him. “You’re a princess, Harry!”

   For some reason, that reminded him of what Hagrid had told him back when he lived with the Dursleys. This was much more effeminate and teasing, but Harry was comfortable enough in his sexuality to simply not care. In heels or in a suit, he was a man’s man. “Thank you, Duchess Ginevra,” he said formally with a little bow on his bar stool.

   The Quidditch-roughened woman laughed, and Harry was glad. “Any time,” she told him. “Now, you best down that drink.”

   “How come?”

   “Because my brother is about to come out of the back room with a little something for you,” Ginny let slip, the alcohol having loosened her tongue. “Wouldn’t want you to drop your glass while a guy bumps and grinds it all over you. You know what a mess that can make.”

   Harry shook his head, but found himself smiling nonetheless. It was a rite of passage, in all honesty. Draco had practically given him permission to go wild, so why not? The Ex-King of London Gay Nightlife probably had a man on his arm right now. The intoxicated logic made perfect sense at the time, and Harry gave Ginny his best game face. “Bring it on.”

   “Oh, Ron’s been planning this for a long while,” she warned him. “You hardly know what you’re in for.”

   “It won’t be _that_ wild,” Hermione said from her seat next to Ginny. At least Hermione hoped it wouldn’t get that wild. “We’re supposed to be celebrating the next step in Harry’s life, not showering him in sex.”

   For Hermione to be using the phrase ‘showering him in sex’, Harry needed to be much, much more drunk. He finished off the firewhiskey bottle as Ginny had instructed, only to hear a crackle as the loudspeaker of the building came on.

   “Now, I’m told,” said the man’s voice. “That we have a bachelor party in the house tonight!” The crowd from the dance floor and booths let out a wild shout as the rainbow lights came on, swishing around the room like search lights.

   Finally, they had found their target, all landing on Harry at once. He reached up to cover his glasses from reflecting the light, which was his first mistake. The momentary blindness distracted him from what the man was saying over the loudspeaker. “Ladies and gentlemen, now ready to shake it for the groom-to-be, is our Thunder From Down Under here at Hunk-O-Mania, the one, the only, Loooong John!”

   Harry really didn’t need clarification where the name came from when the man stepped out into the crowd. Were you even supposed to have muscles in your shoulders? “Happy wedding!” Ron called from the back of the room, with Neville next to him laughing so hard that he could barely catch his breath.

   Apparently, the one, the only, ‘Long John’ was coming Harry’s way and there was nothing he could do to stop it. So, he figured, if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em. Or at least, that was what he did when foxed.

   “Yeah!” Harry called out, getting cat calls of approval from the onlookers. Even Ginny gave him a pat on the back as the Living Incarnation of Masculinity made his way towards Harry. Clad only in a mesh shirt and black leather boy shorts, his robust and tan muscles threatened to break the fabric. In a moment of true and unspeakable shock, Harry noted that the man was carrying handcuffs.

   Telling Ron about his sex life had been a bad idea, he decided right then and there as Neville and Ron came up to drag Harry to a booth without a table to give him more room to be a mixture of mortified and curiously turned on.

   Within moments, Harry had a lap-full of man flesh, and lots of it.

   And then, in a moment that may have defined Harry Malfoy-Potter’s life, the stripper looked him dead in the eyes, and said: “Boy Who Lived, hm? Looks like somebody needs to make a man out of you.”

   “Oh _Merlin_.”

******

   His private room in the upper loft was about as suggestive as a room could be. Redundantly enough, there were even photos of naked men along the walls, in all sorts of compromising positions. The other wall of clear glass allowed the party inside to look down on the raging crowd of shirtless men dancing together.

   The first thing Draco looked for upon entering was their open bar. He would need it to get through the night.

   For some reason, nobody else was walking as fast as him. He beat them to the private bar, and immediately knew something was up. Two men stood in front of it, clad in… Black Auror cloaks? “What the—“

   “That’s him!” Theo called from behind Draco, motioning to his blonde friend.

   As if those had been the magic words, the two men leaped into action. They ripped off their Auror robes to reveal the tiny G-strings underneath. Draco would have burst into laughter if he wasn’t so busy drinking them in. “Well, hello, gentlemen.”

   “We’re going to have to place you under arrest, Sir,” the tall one said, his dark black hair eerily similar to Harry’s.

   “On what charges?” Draco asked, playing along.

   “Being too damn sexy,” the other man purred, his voice low and silky.

   It was ridiculous, and cheesy, and nowhere near as hot as when Harry and he role-played arrests, but it was his damned _bachelor party_. Clichés were as guaranteed as his hangover the next morning would be. “I’d like to see you try,” Draco challenged them, receiving whoops and claps from his crowd of friends.

   In one swift motion, the two men pinned Draco to a glass wall. The club below him pulsed on, and Pansy’s laughter was the only thing he could hear above the music. It was a heavy beat, and fast.

   The tall man got to work shaking his hips while the other man grabbed a nearby pole. Somehow, a drink got to Draco’s hand without him even needing to prompt his friends. A woman grabbed another pole to ensure that Blaise, Maggie, and Greg didn’t die of boredom halfway through the night.

   “To the groom!” Theo said, holding up what would be his first of many firewhiskeys.

   “To the groom!” the room echoed, and even the strippers joined in.

******

   Well, at least Harry knew why they called him ‘Long John’ now. The striptease had Harry cuffed down for what felt like hours. He splashed some water from the sink on his face, and knew what Draco would have to say about the dangers of tap water.

   When John had wrapped it up, Harry had been hard and out in the open. Luckily, nobody had noticed when he excused himself to the bathroom. Even in his intoxication, he really didn’t need Hermione or Ginny accidentally catching sight of the bulge in his pants.

   Finally, Harry looked up to himself in the dirty bar mirror. Much to his surprise, someone had come in behind him. “Ron!” Harry said, turning around. “I will get back at you, somehow. Some day.”

   “’M sure of it!” Ron slurred happily, stumbling up to hug Harry. They did their customary three pats on the back before separating. “Now, tell me you enjoyed yourself.”

   Oddly enough, he was right. “Yeah, yeah. He was hot.”

   “So hot!” yelled Ron amidst his laughter. “Y’know, mate, I love girls and all but sometimes I wonder if the grass is greener—“

   “No,” Harry said simply. “Just… No.”

   Ron pretended to be offended. “What, you’re allowed to be gay and I’m not?!”

   “’Course not,” he retorted with an evil grin.

   That got Ron laughing even harder, with Harry joining in. “Okay, _fine_. I guess I’ll stick to my wife and kid and stuff.”

   “And stuff,” Harry echoed in agreement.

   Suddenly, Ron looked up at his best friend. “You’re getting married tomorrow.”

   “Yeah, I am.”

   “Holy shit. Hermione’s pregnant, I’m married, and you’re getting married!” Ron was in a shock as if this was all brand new information.

   “All of that is right, Ron. Should we give you another drink to celebrate your memory, hm?”

   “Shut up,” Ron said seriously. “You’re getting married. To Draco bloody _Malfoy_.”

   Amused, Harry propped up Ron on a sink. “Yeah, mate; it’s actually Malfoy-Potter now.”

   “That’s fuckin’ fantastic,” he decided, summoning another firewhiskey after all. This time, Harry took it from his hand and drank. “You’re gonna _marry_ him. With vows and everything.”

   “Vows and everything,” Harry said before a panic rose in his stomach and he nearly dropped the bottle like Ginny had said he would. “Fuck!”

   “Hm?” Ron asked groggily.

   “The vows!”

   “Harry, if you’re trying to tell me you didn’t write those fucking vows—“

   “That _is_ what I’m trying to tell you!” Harry’s hands flew right to his hair, tugging at it in frustration.

   “Okay, you get a paper towel, and I’ll find a pen. How hard can it be?”

******

   Once Draco’s half-lap-dance-half-wall-dance was finished, his blood was running hot in his veins. The man wasn’t his Harry, but he was damned good-looking. Allowing himself to drape across a bright red couch, Draco grabbed another drink off of the glass table in the center of the couches. This one at least had a little decorative umbrella in it.

   Their party entertainment bounced along to the music on their poles, while Draco’s brood gathered around him.

   Out of his pocket, Theo fetched a joint and lit it with his wand. “Tell me,” he said, puffing out the first few bursts of smoke. “How does it feel knowing in—“ Theo checked his watch “—eighteen hours you will be getting married?”

   Draco had to steal a puff himself to answer that properly. “Kind of horribly excited.”

   “Good on you,” Greg said, beaming. “But you better get in all of your indiscretions tonight.”

   “Harry’s just… So sexy, you know? I know that’s never gonna be a problem.”

   From the opposite couch, Pansy let out a drunken laugh. “Your marriage sounds one of those… Those things senators use… Escort services! Yeah, that’s right.”

   “Oh, but I get him for free,” Draco pointed out to another round of laughs.

   He passed the joint along to Greg, who seemed all-too-eager to get his hands on the Gillyweed. “Good on you, mate, good on you,” he told Draco again before passing it along to Maggie.

   The redhead was looking fiery as ever, and looked at the blunt with curiosity in her bright eyes. “Hm. Think Mungo’s will be doing employee drug tests any time soon?” she asked Draco and Pansy.

   “They had them last month,” Pansy shrugged and nearly spilled her martini. “So I doubt it.”

   That seemed to satisfy Maggie for the moment. “Ah, fuck. Haven’t had this in years,” she murmured. “You’re a bad influence, Princess.”

   “Duh,” Pansy said, taking the rolled-up paper and taking in a deep suck. She ended it by blowing the smoke in Maggie’s face and across her lips, only before opening her mouth and letting their tongues slide together in the ashy whirl. They would cover up the smell with charms in the morning.

   Once it’d been passed around twice, Theo decided he was cutting them off. Draco couldn’t still be stoned while he said ‘I do’. “I think it’s time for a little game,” Pansy said; ready to take full advantage of her friends’ relaxed states.

   “Your favorite game?” asked Blaise, already knowing along with everyone else.

   Pansy nodded eagerly, giggling a little as she did so. Draco tried to keep a focus, but her shape kept moving… Wait, there she was. All rosy cheeks and temptress’s smiles lighting up that pug face of hers. “But this time, it’s for our Draco.”

   ‘Our Draco’. What a weird phrase. His mother was always using it, and so were his friends… Woah. Was that really what his hands looked like? Who the hell came up with hands? And why five fingers? Why not six? That would make foreplay much more interesting.

   Finally, Draco’s head swam back to reality. “Hm?”

   “I don’t think he’s quite ready for a dare,” Maggie laughed, resting her now heel-less foot on the glass table. “So, truth.”

   “If Harry were here right now,” Blaise asked, tongue darting out to wet his chapped lips. “What would you do?”

   They all had Draco just where they wanted him, a complete open book. This would be an interesting game.

******

   “Say something about his eyes,” Neville suggested, leaning over the paper towel with Ron.

   “Or about how dedicated he is to his job,” Hermione offered, the only sober one left in the entire establishment.

   “Or just bugger the vows and consummate the marriage on the altar,” Ron shrugged. “It’d at least give Lucius a stroke.”

   At this point, with half a pack of paper towels filled with crossed-out promises of love and devotion, Harry didn’t think that was such a bad idea.

******

   “You’re kidding.”

   “I’m not kidding at all,” Draco informed them, leaning forward. “We went back to the dungeons, found an empty room, and went at it.”

   Blaise would have congratulated him if it was 1999. “How is it possible that you resolved past sexual tension in the present?” The question felt slightly spiritual to the Slytherin, but that was what Gillyweed tended to do to people.

   “Oh, it’s possible. Have I told you all about the time we pretended I captured him during the war? He could barely walk for two days straight afterwards…”

******

    Harry’s guess had been that with each firewhiskey, he would be more and more inspired. It turned out that he was dead wrong. Moving on to another roll of paper towels, he began the process all over again.

   This time, he screwed his eyes shut. As wobbly as he was, Harry saw Draco in his mind’s eye, and could taste him on his tongue. “Vows. Vows. Think of vows, Potter.” He had to correct himself. “Malfoy-Potter.”

   Setting the paper down on the bar with an air of finality, he went to work.

******

   Draco wasn’t entirely aware of how both of the men in tear-away Auror costumes had gotten on his lap, but he certainly wasn’t complaining. The music was loud, they were toned, and the liquor was strong.

   For a second, he was king of the pleasure palace. Then, the tall one had to open his damn mouth.

   “So, is it true that The Dark Lord told you to kill Albus Dumbledore?”

   They were pushed off of him so fast that their heads spun. “We’re dancing,” Draco declared, making for the door and testing how well his legs worked. With another ‘whoop’ of noise, his friends followed behind him.

   Draco blazed a trail down the glass staircase to the mob below, one moving unit of flesh and delicious sin. Someone handed him a shot. Without thinking, he took it and dove in.

   There was a certain feeling Draco got when he was in the middle of a dance floor. It was like he was the center of the universe, and everyone else were meteors and planets that orbited around him. He danced his way to the middle easily, moving close enough to the DJ so that the thump of the bass rang in his ears.

   The music took root, blurring the lights and faces of the men around him. Now Draco was back on his throne, with nobody to ask him about Dumbledore or Tom Riddle or anyone in the entire world. Nobody talked on the dance floor because nobody needed to. The beat was the heartbeat of their moves, the heartbeat of the night life around them. Clubs weren’t supernatural places that brought out the animal in a person; they were just empty rooms without the _people_.

   Each breath drawn in was pushed by once drawn out, a sweaty hot mix of skin teeming with life and air. At some point his friends caught up, surrounding him in the middle. Whichever way he turned, there was Pansy or Greg or Theo and what felt like miles upon miles of people.

   They were in a sea, a never-ending sea of youth and glamour and recklessness. Nobody in here talked about kids.

   It reminded him of that conversation he’d had with Theo again.

   “Wendy?” he shouted to him, trying to see if Theo remembered.

   With an enormous smile, Theo slung his arms around Draco’s shoulders and danced with him. “Yes, Peter?”

   “’You know that place between sleep and awake, the place where you can still remember dreaming?’” Maybe the real question here was why Draco could suddenly vividly remember J.M. Barrie quotes while under the influence, but Theo seemed impressed.

   “’That’s where I’ll always love you’?” he finished for Draco.

   Draco shook his head. “Nah. That’s where I’ll keep the lost boys.”

   Laughing, Theo gave him a spin.

******

   Never did the manufacturer of this paper towel understand the meaning it would have one day. In the factory lines, many people encountered it and never fully understood the significance it would one day hold.

   The paper towel had never been born great; it had greatness thrust upon it.

   “It’s perfect,” Harry said quietly, hushed.

   “It’s wildly romantic,” Hermione nodded in approval, trying to hide her proud beaming. She fixed the minor grammar errors with the pen, but Harry had managed not to make a horrible mess of it, even while drunk.

   Ron nodded sagely. “Best thing ever written, I think.”

   “You’ll only be able to know in the morning,” Luna said with a smile, placing a gentle hand on Ron’s shoulder.

   “The morning,” Harry repeated. “I’m getting married in the morning.”

   “Oh, _now_ he understands!” Ron complained, laying his head down on the dirty bar.

   “Excited?” Neville asked. He certainly was.

   Everyone was always asking Harry how fucking _excited_ he was. He wasn’t sure what to answer with anymore. “I’m getting married,” he parroted, shell-shocked.

   “And with your vows done just in time,” Ginny said and snorted out a laugh.

   Harry’s heart hammered in his chest.

******

   Draco couldn’t remember what time they had left the clubs behind them. All he knew now was that they were free to roam the streets as they pleased.

   “Oh my god, Blaise,” Greg laughed into his friend’s shoulder. “Did you see that guy checking you out?”

   “Yeah, I saw him when he whipped out his cock,” Blaise returned, walking with his arm around Greg. “I mean, it wasn’t even too bad. If I was gay, I would’ve gone for it.”

   “I’m so proud of your acceptance,” Theo said airily.

   Shop signs flashed in front of them as they made their way down a wizarding street. Late-night establishments thrived on Friday nights like this. Or, as the case happened to be, Saturday mornings like this.

   “We need to do something,” Pansy insisted. “One last thing before we drop Draco on my couch.”

   “What _haven’t_ we done?” Theo asked, raising an eyebrow. His point had merit. After all, they’d visited another bar, two more clubs, and another strip joint just to mess with their favorite groom-to-be.

   Suddenly, Pansy was inspired. The kind of inspired one can be when they take several illicit materials at once, and consume them all within a span of a few short hours. “I have an idea!”

   It wasn’t the best idea, and it definitely wasn’t the brightest idea, but she was committed. Grabbing Maggie with one hand and Draco with the other, she led them to a glowing storefront at a corner of the street.

   The doors of ‘Ink of Queens’ opened with a little jingle of a charmed bell tied to the entrance.


	38. The Ones Who Love Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry gets a pick-me-up before the wedding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is the half of my favorite Sirius quote, “The ones who love us never truly leave us”. Also, you finally get to see Lucius’ gift! Also, ‘Elvendork’ is just about the best part of Harry Potter, and it’s in the prequel. Madness. Thanks again for reading, guys.

**Chapter 38: The Ones Who Love Us**

   Draco was unused to waking up on a couch, and most definitely unused to waking up alone. His first mistake was reaching out blindly for the lump of warmth that was usually sleeping beside him.

   His hand went just centimeters too far out and for a second, Draco was tumbling down a cliff. In reality, he was rolling onto Pansy’s shag carpet. “Fuck,” he hissed. “ _Fuck_.”

   In the distance, a shower was running. “Fuck,” Draco said again, louder this time. Draco’s magnificently graceful collision with the floor had awakened what felt like a scorpion latched onto his ankle. Or maybe a rabid dog had wandered by and clamped its teeth down.

   “Shit! Pansy!” he yelled, rolling over under her coffee table. “What time is it?”

   The continuing patter of water told Draco that Pansy couldn’t hear him. But he sure as hell could hear her, and Maggie too. “Stop having sex, I’m getting married!” Draco announced, clumsily getting up and reaching out blindly for a hangover potion. At least his friend had remembered to stock those up.

   After the bitter, pungent potion went down, Draco wasn’t about to let his sputtering stop him from getting on Pansy’s back. “I mean it!”

   “One minute!” Pansy yelled out, and a thud came from within the shower. Draco could have sworn he heard Maggie say: ‘Oh, you think you’re _that_ good with your tongue?’.

   Equal parts frustrated and atwitter with nerves, Draco busied himself with food. Yes, food. It would never fail him, never storm out after a fight, and never join a supremacist society bent on destroying his future husband… Anyway, now was no time to be bitter. He was getting _married_.

   As one of the only people who Pansy tolerated in the world, Draco knew the intricate layout of her kitchen. Reaching for some chocolate-y cereal with some unidentifiable animal dancing around on the box, Draco poured himself a bowl. He was a couple of spoonfuls in when some distant nagging feeling returned.

   Oh right, his enflamed ankle. Now, he hadn’t remembered twisting it while dancing, or drunkenly walking back to Pansy’s…

   “How’s the groom?” Pansy asked as she strode into the room. Her raven-black hair was wrapped up in a towel that matched the one covering her naked body. “Still nursing that little piece of… Oh, Salazar, what would I call it? Artwork, I suppose.”

   Draco’s spoon nearly dropped to the floor. “ _What_?”

   “Holy shit,” Maggie said, hushed. Her body was covered in a similar towel of a darker shade, but her wet curls tumbled down her shoulders. “He doesn’t remember.”

   Pansy did a pretty shit job at suppressing her laugh. “Do you really not remember?”

   “You did get me horribly drunk,” Draco pointed out, finally lifting up his ankle to take a look. In his defense, he was groggy and doing things out of order. “Why is it bandaged? Did you try to kill me or something? Did we run into trouble with any Death Eater sympathizers?”

   Both women shook their heads. “It’s actually to keep your skin from getting infected,” Maggie hinted.

   “Why the hell would it— no. No. I did _not_.”

   “Yes, yes you did,” Pansy comforted. “You got a tattoo.”

   “Why didn’t you stop me?!” Draco raged, standing. After all, those sorts of things were _permanent_ on his pristine pale skin. He moved to rip the bandage off to assess the damage.

   Pansy stopped him short, causing her towel to nearly fall off. “Oh no you don’t. You can’t take the bandage off until tonight. Snake said you have to keep it on for twenty-four hours.”

   “Snake? His name was _Snake_ and you let him touch my flawless skin?” he demanded.

   Maggie shrugged. “He’s done all of my tats.”

   “You have them?” It didn’t surprise Draco, but he’d never noticed.

   “Not in any place you’re going to see,” she assured him, earning a smug grin from Pansy.

   “Fine. Now, let’s end this madness,” he took a deep breath. “Tell me what it’s of.”

   That made Pansy look all the more smug. “It’s adorable, really.”

   “Very cute.”

   “Fuck,” Draco sighed again. “I am getting married in—“ he looked up at her kitten-themed kitchen clock. “Six hours. Just tell me what the fuck it is, so I can get it removed later knowing who to get drunk and dupe into stupid things next time we all go out drinking.”

   “We hardly ‘duped you’,” Pansy scoffed. “You even told us the story behind your body-art choice.”

   “What is it?” When Draco’s hands slammed down on her expensive granite counter, Pansy realized just how on-edge he was.

   “Have you ever seen that muggle flick The Lion King?” she asked cautiously.

   “Yes, it was the first muggle movie I watched with Harry. Why?”

   Crossing her arms, Pansy thought of a gentler way to say what was now taking residence on Draco’s ankle. “It’s not that big, really. It’s just… The lion from the beginning, the kid one... Simba, right? Well.”

   Eating another spoonful of cereal could keep Draco from having a full-scale groomzilla meltdown.

******

   The hangover potion was acrid as ever, but necessary. His head was thrumming with a hundred unanswered questions, but the potion swept most of them away. It was hard to focus on existential crises when one’s taste buds were being assaulted.

   Ron and Hermione had been up before him, running about the flat to prepare themselves for the upcoming day. Without even needing to be prompted, Ron handed Hermione her purse. They’d been together so long that they didn’t even need words to communicate, Harry realized with a dull ache. _Third wheel_ , he thought to himself.

   Trying to cheer himself up, Harry went to take a long, hot shower. Just how Draco liked it. After all, he wasn’t a third wheel to him. They were going to be forever bonded in mere hours; eternally and unendingly a pair. Two of a kind.

   When Harry stepped under the spray of water he could hardly keep from scrubbing his skin thin. He had to get that dingy bar smell off of him, and wash away whatever Long John had left behind on him. Luckily, he was able to cover up the handcuff marks with a flick of his wand.

   Once he had been thoroughly cleansed, he used a drying spell and made his way to Ron and Hermione’s bathroom mirror. It had fogged around the edges during his shower, but he could still see himself clearly; as he had the night before.

   His hair had decided to stick up at all sorts of strange angles that morning, and he could practically hear Draco scolding him. ‘ _Just because you’re completely mental doesn’t mean you need to look it, dear_ ’.

   Harry cast spell after spell until his dark locks had submitted to his whim. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Harry remembered a comment Draco made about his hair in third year. With that in mind, he set to work.

******

   White was practically dripping off of the dress robes. It made Draco feel like a canvas, a fresh and new man.

   In reality, he was about as scarred and scuffed as they come. He liked having his appearance betray that more than anything. In the full-length venue mirror outlined in silver, he liked it even more.

   Every button tightly fastened and every crease in the fabric magicked away, Draco’s white robes were tight enough to get Harry squirming, and long enough to have every last wedding guest gaping. Some in envy, Draco hoped. He’d spent at least an hour on his hair. Getting preened up for Harry made him feel like they were going on their first date all over again.

   All of the fidgeting with his belt and vest were full of nostalgia.

   “Draco Malfoy-Potter,” he tried in front of the mirror, smiling. He outstretched his hand as if he was introducing himself to someone new. “Hello, wonderful to meet you, my name is Draco Malfoy-Potter.”

   When he realized nobody was actually there, he dropped his hand and laughed to himself. “Mr. and Mr. Malfoy-Potter,” he tried, wondering how that would look on placeholders at Ministry parties and in newspaper headlines. “The Malfoy-Potters.”

   Amidst his swelling and building glee, Draco was glad that nobody was around to see him acting like a complete imbecile. Well, at least he _thought_ there was nobody around.

   “Uncle Draco?”

   He whipped around immediately; superstitious that Harry might walk by and see him. “Fred, Victoire, did you lose your parents again?”

   “Nah,” Fred said, leaving the door alarmingly and gapingly open purely to see the distressed look on Draco’s face as he stormed over to slam it behind them.

   “Then what do you need?” Draco snapped.

   “I wanted to see how pretty you’d look!” Victoire said, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. “Mummy said that you’d be the prettiest bride ever. She was right.”

   Beneath Victoire’s layer of childish ignorance was Fleur’s undoubtedly bitter sarcasm. “Well, yes, your ‘mummy’ is a kind woman,” he returned with a forced smile. “Now, don’t you think it’s time to—“

   “Where’s your bouquet?” Fred interrupted.

   “It’s in the refrigerator,” Draco said, trying to herd the cousins like sheep to the door.

   That made Victoire burst into laughter. “The fridge? That’s silly!”

   “Actually, it keeps the flowers preserved—“

   “Are you gonna throw it at the end like they do on telly? I think my Aunt Ginny should catch it. She always looks so grumpy when she sees married people,” Fred told him.

   Draco never thought he could admire a child, but there he was. Honesty was his favorite quality in people, no matter how small. “Oh, I agree,” Draco said, smiling. “I’ll make sure it goes in her direction.”

   “Good!” Victoire said, jumping up and down in her flower girl dress and clapping her meaty little hands. It ruffled her skirts and forced Draco to stoop to her level to fix them.

   “There,” he said when they were properly adjusted. Something about Fred Junior’s comment had him feeling like his match-maker streak could continue. After all, Theo and Colin had been a roaring success, and Pansy and Maggie had fallen into place without him even trying. “Now, I have a very special mission for you two.”

   That made their matching brown eyes widen. “A mission?” they said at once. Their fascination was pure innocence and wonder in Draco’s hands.

   “It’s top secret,” Draco assured them. “So if your Aunt Ginny asks…”

   “We know nothing,” Fred Jr. said as if he had heard the whole thing before.

   “Good.” Draco stood and walked to the embroidered pile of napkins in the corner of the lavender room from a previous wedding. Whoever S.S. and D.H. were, they weren’t going to be missing these. Victoire and Fred watched on in awe as Draco drew gingerly grasped a fountain pen. No need to ruin his immaculate white attire with a careless spill.

   “You look fantastic tonight,” Draco narrated as he scrawled in order to disguise his handwriting. “Meet me by the bar, I have a feeling we have some catching up to do since school. Signed, B.Z.”

   In all likelihood, Blaise would be by the bar without Draco even needing to prompt him. It was fool-proof.

   He turned back to the kids. “Now, give this your Aunt Ginny,” Draco instructed them.

   Victoire snatched the napkin up and left Fred to chase after her, whining for a chance to give it to their aunt.

   Draco grinned as he turned back to the mirror, even more satisfied that they had remembered to close the door behind them.

******

   Harry Potter had only smoked twice in his life.

   The first time was with an old boyfriend, taking in a drag as a joke after sex. He’d coughed and wheezed as his lungs rejected the very thought of nicotine.

   The second time had been outside of the delivery room where Fred Junior was born. George had gotten a big Cuban cigar in true father-to-be style. He’d given Harry a puff and ruffled his hair when Harry nearly hacked up a lung.

  Now, he wondered if it really did relax people after all of the throat convulsions. Harry could have used something relaxing.

   Pacing around the gardens he would be getting married in soon enough dressed in his full white regalia, his nerves had reached an unstoppable high. His feet shuffled through the trim grass without care of staining the shoes Draco had worked tirelessly to procure.

   This commitment was for _life_. Life!

   Harry loved Draco with every fiber of his ridiculous, world-saving being. That wasn’t the problem, and it most likely never would be.

   The problem was eternity, and infinity, and leaving children behind that would have children who would have children to look back and remember him. The problem, essentially, was death.

   Harry hadn’t feared death that night in the Forbidden Forest. He’d accepted it, and in terms of holding all of the Hallows at one point or another, he had apparently ‘mastered’ it. What a joke that was.

   The headline was clear in his mind. ‘Harry Malfoy-Potter: More Scared of His Own Wedding Than Murder’.

   However, the Forbidden Forest had been a different point in his life. Harry was less filled in. In Draco’s own words—courtesy of a study he read and wouldn’t shut up about for a week—brains weren’t actually developed until the early twenties. Harry figured that made him a child soldier.

   If he had really died that night and saved his friends, Harry realized with a cold shock, he wouldn’t have regretted it. He had never woken up in a man’s arms, warm and with fine hair rubbing up against his cheek. He’d never seen Paris, or Bangladesh, or his first horribly cramped flat. He’d never seen the look on Hermione’s face when Ron proposed.

   Harry had too many things that he found worth living for. Draco being on the top of that list.

   In short: Harry had never had so much to lose before, and for a Gryffindor, he was being an awful coward about it.

   After having looped around the garden for possibly the hundredth time, Harry finally checked his shoes for green scuffs.

   “Cold feet?” Lucius asked, far too amused by Harry’s mumbling and fretting. Most likely, normal father-in-laws probably didn’t get that sort of satisfaction from seeing the person who their son had married upset.

   “No,” Harry answered quickly, panicked by Lucius’ sudden appearance. “Uh, definitely not.”

   Lucius smirked. He could smell fear like a well-trained dog. “Ah, right. You are the one who proposed after all. Maybe it’s Draco we should be worried about.”

   Harry shook his head as Lucius walked over. “No, it’s fine. He’s fine. We’re fine.” Lucius’ dark green robes shimmered in the August sun.

   “Barely even married to my son yet and you’re lying to me?” he asked. There was a cold humor to his tone. “I know a nervous groom when I see one.” He left out the ‘I’ve been on this earth longer than you’ bit, since Draco always reacted so negatively to that. “Have I ever told you about my wedding day?”

   Why hadn’t Lucius torn his head off in a paternal rage yet? Maybe he was giving him a false sense of security before attacking. Harry stayed alert. “You haven’t.”

   “It was quite a long time ago,” Lucius admitted, chest tall with pride of his aged wisdom. “But I had to have three men hold me down.”

   “What?”

   “Marcus Nott, David Goyle, and Ignus Crabbe. I was very close to running, Potter.” Ignoring last name changes had become a pastime of Lucius’.

   “I’m not going to run,” Harry said firmly. It surprised him how forcefully it came out.

   Lucius smirked. “That’s all well and good, but I’m not finished telling my story.”

   “Sorry.”

   “I had been engaged to Narcissa very quickly—“ he left out the ‘because she was pregnant with Draco’ bit. “—and everyone from my father to the papers approved. Even so, I was still…” Lucius searched for the word in the air. Harry had to bite his lip to keep from completing it for him. “Apprehensive.”

   Harry wondered if this story actually had any point, or whether Lucius had gotten into the champagne early, but then he saw the fire in his eyes. It was that same grey sparkle that Draco had when he was inspired and determined.

   “So, after being forced back into the venue by my friends,” _all in jail now, for becoming murderers in a bloody war_ , “I was given something that made me stay.”

   Almost desperately, Harry’s eyes widened. “What was it?”

   Silently excusing Harry for speaking out of turn, Lucius continued. “It was unexpected.” Inhaling, Lucius tried to push away all thoughts of attaching emotion to his words. Even though Harry would be his family soon enough, he would not be seen getting frantic and sentimental in front of him. “My father was never a kind man.” _Or an understanding man, or a warm man, or a faithful man to my mother, or a caring one to his son_. “But he came to my tent an hour before the ceremony. He sent everyone away, and talked to me.” For the first and only time, Abraxas had spoken to him like an equal.

   “Now, it doesn’t matter what he said,” Lucius admitted. “The only reason it meant something was because he was my father.” His hand went to his pocket and withdrew a velvety pouch. “Which is what you need.”

   “You don’t have to—“ Harry said, not really needing a speech from Lucius about commitment and honesty.

   “Not me, Potter,” he sighed, stretching out his arm with the pouch in hand. “Not Sirius, not Remus, and not Arthur.”

   Harry stepped forward, inspecting the small package. It was a maroon fabric that covered whatever lay within, one that captured and absorbed light so well that it felt warm in Lucius’ hand.

   “I figured after the debacle of my last attempt at a wedding gift, I would obviously have to try again. Now, take it.” The book of stars had been stuffed under a bookcase back at Draco and Harry’s flat, but this was like to stay somewhere more in sight. Harry reached out and grasped it, confused. “You’ll have to excuse if it’s a bit… Re-gifted. Now, go somewhere where you won’t be seen, and open it.”

   For a moment, the idea of a last-minute assassination plot came to Harry’s mind. It all sounded shady enough. Even so, Harry nodded numbly. “Thanks.” _I guess_.

   “You’re welcome.”

   Harry spun where he stood and headed for a spot he knew would be empty. The pouch felt heavy with purpose, so Harry quietly thanked Draco for renting the entire location for the wedding, in spite of how much it cost.

   When Harry found the rose-strewn gazebo, his hands were shaking. What the hell was he holding? Lucius had mentioned his father’s advice, thrown out some cryptic words, and gone on about his day as if it were the most fitting gift he could give.

   Nervously, Harry undid the satin ribbon holding the velvet in place and let it cascade to the white wood beneath his feet.

   When he pushed back the first layer of velvet, his heart stopped. He wanted to run back to Lucius and _demand_ how he had gotten this back, how he had found it…

   The only thing stopping him was his need to use it. The stone was still a brilliant black, carved with the symbol that had haunted Harry through seventh year. “How…” Harry whispered, the resurrection stone staring back at him with its abyssal shine. He had abandoned the stone in the Forbidden Forest, never to be seen again. It had made Cadmus Peverell mad enough to take his own life.

   It took him a second to remember how to use it. He turned it over in his hand once, hands far from steady. Twice, his breathing sharp and uneven. And for the third time, Harry Malfoy-Potter felt his knees grow weak.

   When Harry looked up, two spectral wisps of swirled in the air before him. For a moment, they were as white as his robes and as the gazebo, but they soon phased into reality and looked miserably touchable.

   “You,” James said, beaming with pride. “Look incredible, son.” He was still Harry’s height, but his glasses more neatly placed.

   Harry felt like a child once more.

   “And all grown up,” Lily lamented with a sad smile, her long hair draped over her shoulders. Only yesterday she’d been putting him to sleep in crib and singing lullabies with her husband’s arm around her. “We’re so proud of you.”

   “You are?” Harry asked stupidly.

   “Of course we are,” James told him, fighting the urge to take a step forward and embrace him. “You’ve done so well, and we love you.”

   Their lives had been cut short, Harry remembered with a sharp sting. “I love you too,” he blurted out. “I just… I don’t know. I thought you might not approve, or think I was making a mistake.”

   Lily’s eyes mirrored his pain. “Oh, Harry,” she said. “Of course not. You love him.”

   Maybe all of those death anniversaries where Harry had spoken to his parents’ graves had gotten through to them. He had so many questions that he felt overwhelmed. How could they have known what Dumbledore was doing in the war? Was it possible that they had really been watching over him? If so, what kind of afterlife was there?

   The first one he thought of was hardly as deep or meaningful. “So you like Draco?”

   “Of course,” James answered after looking to his wife. His lopsided grin still remained on his face. “I always wanted to have another son, and Draco fits the bill. If he was ours, your mother might have let me name that one Elvendork.”

   Lily laughed. “Apparently, the name is also unisex, so it would have worked no matter what your sexuality,” she said with an eyeroll towards her kooky husband.

   “ _Exactly_. I was just planning for the future. Why do you think we made Sirius and Remus your godfathers? We’re all about acceptance,” he replied, his true joker spirit coming through. Harry had never been able to see _that_ in the Forbidden Forest when he was facing death.

   “We might have also made them your godfathers because they are our friends and we trust them, but that’s _clearly_ beside the point.” Lily would have rolled her eyes again if she wasn’t too busy feasting her eyes on the wonderful man her baby boy had become.

   James nodded and Harry’s smile took over his face. Growing up with them as parents would have been a dream, Harry saw it more clearly than ever. “I wish you could have been there,” he let out. “Their wedding. It was beautiful, and they left chairs open for you.”

   “Harry,” Lily spoke to her son softly, with a quiet humor. “Don’t tell me your memory is going on you already. You have years for that to happen. Do you remember what we told you that night in the Forest?”

   Harry nodded. How could he have forgotten? “That you’re always here,” he repeated, lifting a hand to his chest.

   “And with Sirius, and Remus, and everyone who we love.”

   “Don’t tell anyone,” James said, leaning in like he had a big secret. “But you’re our favorite.” His transparent figure glistened.

   It was so typically funny and fatherly that Harry felt a little like curling up and letting the earth swallow him whole. It seemed like the sort of thing his father would do. James also seemed like he’d surprise Lily with poorly-cooked breakfast in bed on Mother’s Day with a little Harry at his side, show up at every Quidditch game Harry played, have Draco over for Christmas so that they could celebrate the holiday together, and bring over Lucius and Narcissa to boot.

   James would probably laugh too loud for Lucius’ taste, give him a ridiculous and hand-made gift, string lights on his animagus form and prance around the house, and tease Remus and Sirius with mistletoe over their heads.

   Harry knew that they’d make great parents, but even greater grandparents.

   There were two ways to feel about that. Either Harry could mourn what he would never have, or celebrate what he had right then and there.

   Very quietly, without any of it showing on the surface, Harry basked in the moment. His parents loved him, and he loved them. He was a part of their family as much as Draco’s and that was enough for him.

   “Thank you,” Harry said, leaving out the: ‘for everything’. “You’re the best parents I could have asked for, you know.”

   That made tears swell in Lily’s eyes. “I only wish we could have been there for you.” _Instead of watching you suffer under my sister and her wretched husband, instead of standing by as you faced a war, instead of looking on when you graduated and got into the big world out there, and found love all on your own._

   “Your memory is worse than mine,” Harry said, smiling. “You were there. Right here.” It had never felt truer.

   The hand over Harry’s heart was as warm as the sun, and in the distance a bell tower chimed four.


	39. Moving Forward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is for the Millazzos, a couple who wanted my GSA shut down and my principal to resign for running it. Fear not, they were dismissed and the problem solved, but it’s always fun to have a big gay victory dance. Thanks again for all of your support, now let’s get these boys married!

**Chapter 39: Moving Forward**

   Lucius had taken his seat in the front row of benches adorned with violets and draped in ivory, smiling smugly to himself. He really was a superb father-in-law. Only minutes before sitting, Lucius had seen Harry running about the venue trying to get everything ready, with one of the gingers and the mudblood at his side. _I should probably stop saying ‘mudblood’_ , he lamented before realizing it had only been in his head. _Out loud, at least._

The ceremony was scheduled to start in fifteen minutes. Silk ivory ribbons had been placed around the latticed archway that Sirius was standing under, still holding his ‘Hogwarts: A History’ for show. Even he was impressed by the work his niece had put into the flower-adorned and sparkling atmosphere. Sirius swore that if he breathed in too heavily, a passing shimmer in the air might fly down his throat.

   It made Sirius momentarily forget that they were in London City, with its busy traffic and teenagers off from school causing all sorts of trouble. The quieting spells around the Kensington Gardens probably had something to do with that. When he closed his eyes, all he could hear was the excited chatter of the guests and the chirping of birds in the distance.

   “So deep in thought you needed to cancel out your eyesight?” Remus asked, his scars stretched with his smile.

   “Yes,” Sirius said seriously before turning to his husband and opening his eyes with a flutter. Quietly, he scanned over Remus’ dark brown dress robes. “You clean up nice, Moony.”

   “You’re not so bad yourself, Padfoot. His Grace wishes for you to know that he’ll be starting soon.” Remus had taken to calling him that for the day as a joke, but Draco had taken it as a compliment of the highest order in his disoriented state.

   Sirius snorted out a laugh. “Good, because I’m getting tired of standing around.”

   Suddenly, a hush came over the crowd. When Sirius looked for the source of it, Pansy Parkinson was at the opposite end of the lilac-strewn white aisle giving him The Official Signal.

   Remus rushed back to his seat on Harry’s side of the aisle as Sirius cleared his throat. “It looks as if things have begun,” Sirius said, raising his voice so that everyone could hear. “Remember, all hands and feet inside the vehicle.”

   The Weasleys laughed at the joke, but the rollercoaster humor soared right over everyone else’s heads. Sirius sighed. Some people just can’t appreciate a good piece of humor.

   With that, it began. Sirius waved his wand towards the floating instruments beside the wedding altar, stopping their gentle flow of classical music. Draco and Harry had chosen a procession song when they’d picked out their reception dance tunes. It was a soft, bleary instrumental of ‘Awake’ by Secondhand Serenade. Gentle enough to cushion the feet of everyone walking down the aisle yet structured enough to let them keep a beat in their step.

   The first face to appear from the back of the gardens was the ever-lovely Victoire Weasley, beaming as her mother and Colin alike took enough pictures to make a movie out of. She threw the lilac petals just as Draco had instructed and was accompanied by her toothy smile all the way down to a beaming Sirius.

   “Great job,” he told her, ruffling the hair that Fleur had worked tirelessly on that morning. A very French sigh was uttered quietly from a white row.

   Next came Fred, doing a royal wave with one hand and balancing the glowing ammolite rings on a pillow with the other. “That’s my boy,” George told his family with pride. “He has the balls to try and steal Draco’s thunder.” Angelina quieted him with a smack to the knee.

   From behind the drapery concealing the groomsmaids and groomsmen, things were far less harmonious. There was shuffling, and elbowing, and Draco hissing orders.

   The two grooms themselves were separated only by a thin curtain of silk behind the thick drapes, keeping to the tradition that they wouldn’t see each other until they walked the aisle together. As Pansy and Theo went forward to walk the aisle like it was a runway, the two grooms took a shaky step forward.

   Harry tapped on the silk, watching it ripple out like water. “You there?”

   “Of course I’m here,” Draco said with a laugh that sounded on the verge of a squeak. “Now hush, I’m trying to marry you.”

   “I just wanted to say something.” Hermione and Ron went to walk down the aisle. “Before, you know.”

   “What?”

   They took another step forward and Harry cleared his throat. “That we could still go to Vegas if you’re feeling nervous.”

   “ _Me_? Nervous?” Draco asked incredulously. “You were the one who needed a fainting couch over your bachelor party.” He spoke with a flippancy that didn’t at all indicate that they were about to make a lifetime commitment. Challenges tended to kick the nerves right out of Draco.

   Harry had to laugh at that one. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Malfoy-Potter. I am not nervous in the slightest.” Maggie and Greg were almost at the end of the aisle.

   Draco shook his head, looking up at the sky and biting his lip to keep from laughing. “You’re out of your mind. Have I ever told you that?”

   “Several times,” he assured Draco as Ginny curled her arm around Blaise’s with a suspiciously friendly smirk and walked down as her family ‘ooh’-ed and ‘ah’-ed over her dress.

   Finally, it was their turn. The hour they’d waited for, planned for, and dreamed about since they were children and saw their first weddings unfold in front of them. Maybe they weren’t the bride and groom that those traditional marriages had, but they were happy. The wedding crowd stood to watch their entrance.

   Stepping past the silk and looking over to Harry for the first time in what felt like years, Draco reached for his hand. “Shut up,” he said as fondly as ever, drinking in his groom. Colin snapped a picture of the moment, capturing the first time they saw each other in the robes.

  Doing as he was told, Harry shut his mouth and gripped tight to Draco’s hand. Each man had their bouquet of flowers in the other hand, making for the picture of wedding bliss.

   Everyone’s eyes were on them, a feeling that Harry, for once, relished. They were his friends and his family, all looking at him with uncontrollable smiles and shining eyes. It felt as if he were walking across cloud nine, in a dream that he might wake up from at any second.

   Judging from the satisfaction that overwhelmed Draco once he saw the decorations in their full glory and the vice-grip he had on Harry’s hand, Draco was enjoying himself as well.

   When they reached Sirius and his massive tome, he was speechless for a moment. He always was the first to get emotional at weddings, but this was the wedding of a man he considered a son. “Way to steal the show,” Sirius complimented with such a genuine swell in his voice that Harry had to stop himself from running to embrace him.

   Later, Harry decided. He would show him the stone then, too.

   “So,” Sirius said, snapping back to reality and the job at hand. “These two lovely young men have asked me to do a reading before we begin, from The Irrational Season by Madeleine L’Engle.” He omitted an anxious comment about how many e’s and l’s were in that name.

   Breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth like his yoga phase had taught him, Sirius began the reading from a sheet of paper tucked into the ‘Hogwarts: A History’ tome.

   “’ To marry is the biggest risk in human relations that a person can take. If we commit ourselves to one person for life this is not, as many people think, a rejection of freedom; rather it demands the courage to move into all the risks of freedom, and the risk of love which is permanent; into that love which is not possession, but participation’.” Sirius gave the crowd a moment to let that settle in. “’It takes a lifetime to learn another person. When love is not possession, but participation, then it is part of that co-creation which is our human calling, and which implies such risk that it is often rejected.’”

   Draco and Harry joined hands in front of their officiant, catching each other’s eyes and excitedly looking away. That bubbling in their chests was familiar but amplified so loudly that they were sure everyone around them could hear it.

   “’ But ultimately there comes a moment when a decision must be made. Ultimately two people who love each other must ask themselves how much they hope for as their love grows and deepens, and how much risk they are willing to take. It is indeed a fearful gamble. Because it is the nature of love to create, a marriage itself is something which has to be created, so that, together we become a new creature,” Sirius finished. Though his reading voice was no match for Remus’, he thought he’d done a damn good reading.

   “Now, these two lovebirds have decided to write their own vows, so I’ll let them take it away,” Sirius said, motioning to Harry.

   Out of his dressrobe pocket, Harry fished the vows he had scribbled on the bathroom paper towel. Draco looked skeptical of the quality of anything coming from the rough brown paper, and honestly, so did Harry. He could hardly remember what he wrote; just that he’d liked it at the time. _Well, here goes._

   "As I stand here, the earth is still moving," Harry started, eyes on the crumbled paper and looking up to Draco whenever he could. "People are being born, and dying, and growing up. Keys are turning into locks so that people can make it home to their children. People are trying to hold it together every day, just like us. They're eating, sleeping, playing Quidditch, and watching television. Even though you don't really like television."

   The audience laughed, and even Draco smiled.

   "Some people are in different countries and timezones, and they speak languages we'll never know. They've got families and homes while others do not. Even here London, England holds more life than could ever be seen. People get fired, cry, have birthdays, and get married almost every day, and the earth never stops spinning. Time waits for no man, I know that. So it may feel like a dead end to make a commitment or an end to something." Harry had stolen the words right out of Draco's mouth.

   "I don't think that's true. It doesn't matter if you're at a country club or an ill-advised bachelor party–" Ron didn't even bother keeping in his laughter at that one.

   "–I think we're always moving, just like the earth we stand on. Every step I've taken has been a step towards this, and a step towards you." Harry marveled at the words on the paper. Did he really write this? If so, did he have a career in poetry if the whole Head Auror thing never worked out? He’d need to have an extensive supply of alcohol.

   "There are millions of places I could be moving to right, but I'm here. I'm here because I love you."

   Harry smiled. "I guess that's my vow. That I will always love you, so I will always be here, to move forward in any way you want to go."

   Draco, in all his careful planning and meticulous designs, had never envisioned kissing Harry before their 'I do's. However, there his lips were, and his hands gripping tightly to Harry's shoulders and hauling him in.

   "Save it for the honeymoon!" Pansy yelled out from the side, and Draco was dangerously close to flipping her the bird.

   After he'd satisfied himself, Draco gently moved away. Harry was left with a smarmy, lovelorn smile. He'd made his Draco happy.

   "Right," Sirius said, looking to Draco. "Top that one, blondie."

   That booming laugh of Draco's returned and drifted down the aisle. "I'll try, I really will."

   Out of his front pocket he drew a carefully folded piece of paper with what looked like detailed outlines and notes, and continued the motion by tossing it over his shoulder.

   "I will not have you showing me up at my wedding, Potter," Draco decided. His vows had been a little too cookie-cutter for his taste, anyway. "Or, you know, _our_ wedding. Malfoy-Potter."

   Another laugh floated up from the guests, with Molly's heart growing larger and tears pricking Narcissa's eyes.

   For a moment, Draco was silent. Summer wind gently gusted around them, making the skirts and lapels of the wedding party rustle. Draco took a deep breath. "When I was a kid, I remember dreaming about the person I'd spend my life with. I was of the mindset that I had to marry a woman, and probably Pansy." Laughter rang on high, but even Lucius felt the corners of his eyes well with emotion.

   It had struck Lucius all at once. He had done it. His family was out of Voldemort's control, and they were _happy_. Tears of joy rolled down Narcissa's face, and she found her husband's hand in hers. When Lucius looked back to Draco, he had to squeeze Narcissa's hand to keep from keep from joining her outward display of emotion that would in any other circumstance be deemed simply unacceptable, uncouth, and shameful.

   His son was _happy_. That was his dream for Draco when he was born, and it was coming to life right in front of him. "...I'm glad that it didn't turn out like I imagined as a kid, though," Draco continued.

   "More than anything, I'm glad that it's you, Harry. If someone had told me during first year that I'd be pledging my eternal love and such, to a Gryffindor... Let alone The Boy Who Freaking Lived; I would have jinxed them." His flippant smile had charmed the crowd to even more laughing, and had Harry beaming.

   "But now..." Draco paused to collect his thoughts. "You're the singular most kind and patient man I know. I could try and pledge to be more patient with you, but you know that'd be a lie."

   "Yeah," Harry admitted with a laugh.

   "So instead, I pledge honesty. I promise to be honest, faithful, and to go forward with you wherever you want, too,” Draco added that bit on, extremely and thoroughly surprised with Harry’s own vows. Who knew the man who tried to write him a poem after their first date only to have it wilt in front of Ron Weasley had that in him?

   "If I could, I'd give you the world. The closest I've come to that is giving you mine. It's not what I expected, believe me," Draco told him with a smile. "But it's better. You're better than I could have dreamed up. So, so much better."

   Harry’s fingers moved in between Draco’s. They could have been the only two people in the world.

   Reminding them that they actually weren’t was their wedding officiant. He gave the two men a wink before starting up again. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today, in the presence of these witnesses, to join these two men in not-so-holy matrimony.” And then, for the most ill-advised wedding decision that they had made... “If any person can show just cause why they may not be joined together—let them speak now or forever hold their peace.”

   For a moment, the air in the general vicinity had fled Harry’s lungs. He’d almost forgotten about that.

   Draco turned back to the audience, giving them all a skeptical look that made George laugh. Finally, his eyes settled on his parents. “Anything to say?” he asked, cocky and aloof as ever.

   “Carry on,” Lucius responded coolly.

   “But of course,” Sirius said with a wink towards his cousin-in-law. Over the history book, Sirius felt like a regular preacher. He turned to his godson. “Now, repeat after me. ‘I, Harry James Potter’.” The return to their original last names in the ceremony was more symbolic than actual.

   “I, Harry James Potter.”

   “’Take you, Draco Malfoy’.”

   Harry looked at the man before him with complete and utter certainty. “Take you, Draco Malfoy.”

   “’To be my lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold’.”

    He repeated back the phrase and saw years into their future. For once, thinking forward excited him more than he thought possible.

   “’From this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish now and forever.”

   Harry echoed that as well, feeling each word form in his mouth with the utmost care.

   “’Till death do us part’.”

   “Till death do us part’,” Harry affirmed. Something about the meeting with his parents and the baleful looks his mother had given his father told Harry that it didn’t quite end at death, though.

   Fred Junior held up the pillow so that Harry could reach down to carefully pick up Draco’s ring. Slipping the ring on Draco’s left hand so that it clinked softly with engagement ring felt as natural as breathing.

   Draco flawlessly reiterated Sirius’ words, adding his own depth with inflections in all the right places for Harry.

   “Till death do us part,” Draco affirmed, finishing the pledge with Harry’s own ring being placed onto his finger above the engagement ring. It felt a little heavy and strange, but he knew he’d get used to it.

   “Let these rings symbolize the devotion and commitment each holds for the other. These rings, given in love, are a testimony to all who bear witness,” Sirius declared, a proud swell in his chest. “By the power ever-so irresponsibly vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and husband. You may now kiss the groom. Again.”

   So with that, the two husbands reached the pinnacle of their summers. It was everything they had planned for and waited for, and both of them found it surreal. It was finally happening. They’d been family for years, but only now could they say it in all legal certainty.

   They met in the middle of the arch with an impassioned kiss, their clasped hands moving to envelop each other. Harry found that it was difficult to kiss when his lips were so tightly stretched into a smile, but he most definitely made do.

   When Draco went in for the dip, the crowd hooted and cheered in excitement. Harry’s feet panicked to adjust to the new position and keep himself off of the ground, but Draco’s arms held him steadily enough to keep him from falling.

   Even with the shift of positions, Harry wrapped his arms around Draco’s shoulders and kissed him in celebration. His hair was downy soft, and his scent intriguing. It wasn’t the usual shampoo Draco used, it was something else that he’d most likely found at Pansy’s. Harry liked it. During the honeymoon he’d discover his love all over again.

   That excited him even more. “We’re _married_ ,” he said, astonished.

   The crowd laughed and some placed their hands over their hearts. “I believe we are,” Draco replied, just as ecstatic.

   “Married,” Harry repeated.

   “That _is_ what I just did,” Sirius nodded, satisfied with his ceremony leading. Maybe he would take up preaching as his next venture.

   At that, Harry pulled Draco in for a hug and buried his nose into the crook of his neck. “Yeah,” Harry said when Draco finally pulled away to take his hand so he could walk him back down the aisle. “Yeah.”

   Around them, people cheered and threw rice up in the air. It made things feel even more like a white wedding. The kind that bridal magazines would praise.

   Walking hand in hand with Draco to their reception, Harry knew it was the best kind. The kind that made him happy, and the kind that made him a married man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, holy balls, 50k views on fanfiction.net and 4k on AO3!


	40. Reception

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part one of the wedding reception.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Isabel, since she wanted a chapter dedicated to her. Also because she is the Charlie Weasley to my Draco Malfoy. Part one of the reception, since this wound up being too long for one chapter (I like to keep them at 4k). Thanks!

**Chapter 40: Reception**

With the utmost care, Charlie placed the beautifully wrapped empty dragon egg on the gift table. It lay next to piles upon piles of wrapped and bagged gifts of all shapes and sizes. Charlie didn’t doubt for a second that Draco’s friends with their overflowing Gringotts vaults spared no luxury for their newly-wedded friend.

   It seemed Draco hadn’t spared many expenses either. Chandeliers lit the room so that every last crystalline detail of the room was enhanced and multiplied. The plates alone must have cost a small fortune. _Well, birds of a feather…_ Charlie thought happily as he signed the guest book with a golden fountain pen. It reminded him of his favorite dragon.

   He added a little note of congratulations at the end before finishing his name with a flourish.

   His mother put her hand on his shoulder. “Before you know it, people will be signing _your_ guest book,” Molly encouraged, still having held out hope for her son to start enjoying weddings and relationships in general. After all, there had to be _some_ boy in Romania who had caught his eye.

   “I doubt that,” Charlie laughed. “I’m married to my work, mum.”

   “Dragons can’t give you what a husband can,” she pointed out as Charlie waved her off. He wasn’t the sort to get married, Charlie always thought. Other men his age were focused on sex, relationships, and work. For Charlie, it was the other way around. Sure, sex was great, but what beat riding on a dragon?

   “Apparently,” he said as he walked into the reception with his doting mother at his side. “Harry can have both.”

   Molly gave him a scolding little slap accompanied by a smile and moved on to the front table in order to ask Ron and Hermione about their upcoming addition to the family.

   On the other side of the room, Lucius and Sirius had encountered one another in an encounter that both of their spouses had braced themselves for. “Lupins,” Narcissa said as fondly as she could, trying to ease the tension between them.

   “Sweet cousins,” Sirius replied with a smile that dared Lucius to call him out on his brash intimation of the Malfoy’s family relations.

   Much to Sirius and Narcissa’s surprise, Lucius said something that could have been interpreted as… Kind. “The ceremony was lovely.”

   Sirius narrowed his eyes in confusion. That was a compliment? He didn’t detect any sarcasm, and Moony didn’t seem to be bristling with annoyance, so maybe it was sincere. “Thank you,” he responded, careful as ever. Might as well test the waters. “So, your son and my godson are officially one soul and all that. Wands bonded and everything.”

   “And everything,” Lucius nodded calmly.

   Sirius could not take a second more of this nonsense. “Where has my least favorite uptight pureblood bastard gone?” he asked, knocking on Lucius’ head for effect. The blonde man winced back when Sirius came near him, but the only thing that got bruised was his ego.

   “I’m still here, you muggle-loving hippie,” Lucius snarked in a way that was all-too reminiscent of Draco in that there was zero to no animosity aside from a possessing desire to never have physical contact with the man again.

   Remus laughed. “Good to know,” he said as his husband beamed proudly. No doubt Padfoot thought he had been the one to sway Lucius’ conservative tendencies rather than Draco’s years of pressed patience.

   “Everything I do is for my family,” Lucius told them sternly. After all it had been his mantra during his years as a Death Eater. Accepting his son’s husband into his fold was admittedly easier.

   “Right, right,” Sirius nodded. “Then why haven’t we ever gotten an invite to the Manor for dinner?”

   “You never seemed like the dinner party sort,” said Lucius. “But my son is going to be away with Harry for a few weeks, so we have the time to try.”

   “One condition.” Sirius held a finger up to accent the seriousness of his tone.

   “And what’s that?”

   “Remus and I swore to ourselves a long time ago that we wouldn’t eat anything cooked by a forced worker, and that includes house elves,” he informed Lucius. “You are just going to have to try your hand at cooking.”

   “ _Cooking_?” Narcissa asked incredulously. She couldn’t even use one of those muggle mike-crow-waves.

   “We could help you prepare the food,” Remus offered, loving his husband’s train of thought and hopping right on. “You should know your way around a kitchen by now. How else are you going to have the grandkids over for lunch?”

   At the mention of grandchildren, Lucius immediately perked up. Still, he remained as skeptical as ever. “It’s just like potions,” Remus assured him.

   “I happen to recall your performance in potions back in school.” Lucius crossed his arms but still held a smile in his eyes.

   “Fine,” Remus gave in. “It’s easier than potions, and makes some actual sense.”

   “We’ll have to see about that,” Lucius murmured before a hushed silence came over the room.

   The waiters and waitresses in tight black-and-white suits handing out appetizers around them had been dismissed to grab the next course, which meant one thing.

   “Ladies and gentlemen,” Ron said, using his wand to amplify his voice at the front of the room. “I am very proud introduce, Mr. and Mr. Malfoy-Potter.”

   Walking in arm-in-arm were Harry and Draco, drenched in euphoria. Harry gave his best man a nod before raising his own wand to speak so that everyone could hear. “Thank you so much,” he said in response to all the clapping and grandeur that their entrance had received. “Thank you. In the spirit of tradition, we’d like to ask everyone to be seated while your meal arrives, so we can have our first dance as a married couple.”

   Another cheer went up among the crowd as everyone shuffled to their chairs in order to clear the dance floor in time.

   The music came on with a flick of Draco’s wand, a green spark zipping over to the DJ booth. “May I?” Draco asked, dipping down and offering Harry his hand.

   “Of course,” Harry said to his husband, gingerly running his fingertips over Draco’s outstretched palm.

   Draco smiled to himself when he saw the momentary panic in Harry’s eyes. The poor bloke thought he’d forgotten how to dance somehow. “Just keep your eyes on mine,” Draco comforted, leading him to the center of the floor. “You know how to do this.”

   “Sure,” he said dryly. Then, it began.

   Draco’s steady hand held tight to Harry’s hip while the other one found his hesitant fingers. Confidently, he led his clumsy Harry in their first few steps.

   Slowly but surely, Harry’s feet found their proper places again. _Dun, dun, dun… Dun, dun, dun…_ The beat kept him counting and following Draco’s lead. “There,” Draco said, switching from observing Harry’s every move to make sure he was up to par to enjoying the moment. “That’s it.”

   Harry’s teeth bit down on his lower lip and let the lyrics fill his ears. They were swimming, swimming across a lake of silk and glass and a thousand other baubles like fish swimming along with them.

   Their families’ faces were a blur as Draco spun him round for the first time. The Placebo song wasn’t a particularly happy one, but it felt happy as Harry let himself be taken back and forth. The words took on a whole new meaning that would make no sense to Harry a couple hours later, but in that moment it felt sublimely without shape or any real sense of coherency. He felt like he was right on the verge of something grand in Draco’s arms while they went one-two-three, one-two-three…

   This time, Harry decided he would take Draco in for that twirl he had promised him back at the flat. “Ready?” he asked, just to be sure.

   “That shouldn’t even be a question,” Draco grinned as he moved under Harry’s arm and around in a neat circle.

   With that, all they had were a few bars of eight left. Draco spun again on his new white shoes, their black soles making the twirls effortless. It surprised him how easy this would be once Harry had actually learned the moves.

   Bursts of applause lit the room like fireworks.

   “That’s my boy!” yelled Sirius, while Minerva looked at the room of her former students with pride. After all, those Yule Ball lessons had gone on for years to keep the good name of Godric Gryffindor unblemished. Though, in all honesty, Harry probably had help from a particular one of Salazar’s boys.

   That particular Slytherin was the next to raise his wand to his mouth. “Now let’s eat!”

   A perfect line of waiters and waitresses spouted from the side of the room. Draco had told them to carry the dishes with one hand instead of two, mostly because that looked much fancier. Wobbling yet assuredly delicious, the first course reached their tables.

   At a table near the front of the room, Dean humored Luna’s theories on the recent sunny weather due to an imbalance of wisps in the area. Dean, on the other hand, thought that it was a mysterious force of nature called ‘summer’ to do with the location of the earth to sun and the earthen tilt. Luna wasn’t about to believe that any time soon.

   Only a hop and skip away was Hannah Abbott and her date, buried in the piping-hot food that had been placed before him. Meaty kebabs with peppers, just like Draco liked them. The poor, lone Hufflepuff was politely nibbling away at her food while Blaise recounted the bachelor party in gory detail to an intrigued Dennis Creevey.

   “He got _what_ on his ankle?”

   The news had spread like wildfire, among other things. Mischievous little Fred at the next table over and his partner in crime Victoire were giggling loudly enough over their note being passed to their Aunt Ginny that even George had overheard tidbits of. The prankster would never miss an opportunity to make his sister blush, and began scheming notes of his own for his son and niece to use.

   At what Draco had called the ‘Adults Table’ as a joke during the planning, Hagrid was alight with stories and praise for Harry. His bushy beard had been stained by the incoming food, but it was no matter. Later, Charlie would add in the one story he remembered of the young boy hero, letting Norbert the dragon to ride off with Charlie and his coworkers.

   Making a full circle around the room was the head table where Draco and Harry had taken their seats amongst Sirius, Remus, Hermione, Ron, Pansy, Theo, Narcissa, and Lucius. Their inner circle.

   Ron gave his best a hardy clap on the back when Harry sat down, smiling like an idiot. He was just like most of those teens out of school for summer he saw walking along the streets of muggle London, blissfully unaware of any war or suffering. Nothing haunted them, nothing plagued them, and all they had left to conquer were a few more weeks of total relaxation before the schools started up again.

   Harry had never been so glad that he had graduated.

   “That was hot,” Pansy informed Draco, listlessly sipping away at her drink.

   “Didn’t you have your fill last night?” Draco chastised. The woman was a wonder with packing away ethanol. If Draco knew more about chemistry, he would have made a science-based joke about that. Unfortunately, they didn’t teach that at charm school or Hogwarts.

   Pansy gave Draco a slight shake of her head as a response before diving back into the champagne.

   “And what exactly happened last night?” Harry asked in a voice he’d heard millions of chauvinist directors assign the ‘nagging wife’ of their production.

   Draco picked up on the joke immediately. “I didn’t even touch him! Well, most of him.”

   “Well you’ll be proud to hear Ron ordered me a testosterone junkie,” Harry said as he slid back into his normal tone.

   A grin sprouted on Draco’s face. “Like that man we saw at the gym?”

   Harry, of course, knew to exactly which instance Draco was referring to. “He was not a man, he was a gorilla. I kept telling you we should have contacted the zoo in case one went missing,” Harry scolded.

   “You and your hero complex; saving all the gorillas that you can.”

   “You go to the gym?” Ron cut in, confused.

   “Law of the homosexuals,” Sirius explained from the other side of the table in a way that really explained nothing at all to Ron.

   Lucius, as usual, pretended he heard nothing.

   “Anything of note happen to you?” Harry asked as casually as he could, picking at his teeth with the kebab. It drove Draco a smidgen up the wall. Just a smidgen.

   “Oh,” he mused, acting as if he had to think back through a fog of events. “Nothing too wild. I was surrounded by toned men every second of the evening, visited clubs with names both pretentious and lewd, and—“ Draco mumbled the last part into his glass. “—may have gotten a little ink.”

   Harry’s eyes were saucers. “ _Ink_?”

   “ _May_ have gotten ink.”

   “Did you?” Harry questioned. There was no way in hell Draco Malfoy now Malfoy-Potter would mar his alabaster skin with anything for anyone. The faded sectumsempra scars were sacrilege enough.

   Draco’s lips pursed. “Well. I wasn’t entirely of my own volition.” In the background, Pansy rolled her eyes.

   “I think it’s cute,” she added.

   “ _Cute_?”

   “Oh Merlin, Draco, does it have something to do with me? You know, we’ve talked about how ridiculous it is that people get names tattooed onto them—“

   “It’s not your name!” Draco answered with a huff. After all, they weren’t on Maury or one of those trashy muggle shows that Theo loved to watch. “And I’ll show you tonight.”

   “Among other things,” Theo chuckled.

   Lucius also pretended not to hear that, but found some solace in the exchange of disturbed looks with Narcissa.

   “Isn’t now the time for speeches?” the Malfoy matriarch asked politely. However misguided the request, Narcissa had hoped it would end the brief and exposing look into her son’s life outside of work and family.

   Theo and Ron exchanged looks. “Er,” Ron mumbled. “Yeah. Coin flip?”

   “Sounds fair,” Theo replied, voice full of regret. He’d hoped Ron would have done the Gryffindor thing and stepped up first. Still hesitant, he drew a galleon from his pocket. The only ones who were fazed were Ron and Hermione themselves.

   “Bloody Slytherins,” Ron muttered, accepting the gold piece. “I call heads.”

   When the other ‘best man’ gave Ron the nod to flip, he screwed his eyes shut and tried to make for the best of it. His drunken speech at the rehearsal had been bad enough, and Draco would most likely murder him if he cocked up the speech at the actual wedding.

   The coin tumbled clumsily onto the table to spin once, twice, and land. “Heads,” Theo announced triumphantly.

   Now it was time for Harry to give his best mate an encouraging pat.

   Ron nodded appreciatively and swallowed the nerves down. He was a Gryffindor, dammit.

   “Everyone,” Ron yelled out as he stood, clinking his fork on his glass as daintily as possible. At least this one stayed intact. “Attention, everyone.”

   The clamor of voices died down, and Ron tried not to think about how at least half of the viewing audience was somehow related to him.

   “Hey,” he opened, happy that it got a little laugh out of everyone. “I promise I won’t keep you from enjoying your food and conversation for too long, I’ve just got a few things to say about this bloke over here and his lawfully wedded husband.”

   Harry smiled, looking up at his best friend. That was the pudding-loving prick that spent every holiday with him, and stayed at his bedside in second year when Lockhart had turned his arm into gelatin.

   “Now, as you all probably know from the numerous biographies written about Harry, Hermione, and I, we met right before the start of first year…”

   The second that a Gryffindor started talking, Pansy Parkinson had a horrible habit of tuning out. Sure, Weasel—Weasley— _Ron_ wasn’t the worst of them, but he wasn’t the best. That might have been Harry. _Maybe_.

   Harry had even once told her about how the sorting hat tried to put him into Slytherin. Looking at him now, she could see it. His almost-bitchy humor, the ambition that got him to the Head Auror position, his leadership qualities, and that sense of tradition so deeply-engrained that it made Harry propose marriage.

  _Marriage_ , of all things.

   “…And so I said, ‘Of course you’re gay, whatever gets you to leave my sister alone!’…”

   Ugh, and who could forget that? Harry’s brief and doomed romance with a certain ginger girl. Ginny still grated on Pansy’s nerves like Hermione did, but nothing made Pansy smugger than seeing someone else who had been less happy and less well-off than their queer ex-boyfriend.

   At least, that was true when Pansy went to Millie’s house trying to ask her out on a date.

   “…So let’s raise a glass to the happy couple. Now that they aren’t trying to hex each other half to death, I think they’re doing something a little more productive that we all can look to. To Draco and Harry; cheers!”

   From the other side of the room Maggie tried to cheer with a full mouth, much to Pansy’s disgust. It was a wonder how she cared about that woman, honestly. Her and her stupid crooked smile and asymmetrical freckles and dreadfully bitten nails.

   And the incline of her back, the way her breasts shook when she was naked and laughing, the soft down of curly hair on the nape of her neck. Wait. That wasn’t where that was supposed to go.

   When Maggie caught her staring, she winked, damn her.

   “Guess it’s my turn,” Theo muttered aside to Pansy, standing up.

   “Don’t fuck it up,” she encouraged airily.

   “So I just got word from Parkinson here that I shouldn’t fuck this up,” Theo declared loudly, getting a laugh out of Draco and a laugh for himself when he saw Fleur trying to cover up Victoire’s ears. “I’m going to try, I suppose.”

   Pansy’s glare was razor-sharp.

   “Anyway, I have had the misfortune of knowing Draco Malfoy ever since we were kids. Oh, don’t look at me like that, you know I love you, you miserable twat.” Thank fuck they’d only just started serving alcohol, or Theo would have told an unfortunate story involving a vodka luge shaped like a twat. It was right on the tip of his tongue when he thought of something a little more family-appropriate.

   “But, as much as I enjoy making fun of Draco, he really is a great guy. He’s always there when you owl, lives with the press on his back, and still isn’t afraid to be who he is. That’s what I see you two as.” Theo lifted his diamond-encrusted glass up in their honor. “Fearless.”

   “Now don’t you dare look at me like _that_ , Draco. Just because we’re Slytherins and think twice before blindly charging into danger doesn’t mean we can’t be brave. That’s what I think you are, you know. Brave, the both of you. You’d have to be to get married, I think,” Theo said. “You not only promised your eternities to one another along with all of that other stuff that most certainly did not have me getting a little glassy-eyed during the ceremony, you did it in front of all of _us_.”

   That really got a kick out of the crowd.

   “Half of us are bitter kids of questionable upbringing and the other half used to get picked on in school by said bitter kids. Sorry, Sirius, somehow I feel like you’re both,” he pondered aloud after getting an eruption of boisterous laughter from the man.

   “None of us got along, some of us didn’t like who you were marrying, and you still went on. You could have given a crap about what we thought. That’s why you two are brave. You’re true to yourselves ‘til the bitter end and I admire that. I admire you.”

   “In retrospect, we could have made things a little easier on you by say, you know, helping out with any of the plans or not getting buzzed at every opportunity, but you know us.”

   “Wouldn’t expect anything different,” Draco admitted loud enough for everyone to hear without him needing to raise his wand.

   “Exactly. So here’s to you, your husband, and your combined bravery.”

   “Cheers!”

   Smugly, Theo sat back down. “Now try not to fuck yours up, Panda.”

   Pansy was inches away from pinching him on the neck. She could have gotten him, too. But all eyes were on her, and maybe it was an aunt’s voice or her mother’s in the back of her mind that it wasn’t ‘ladylike’. So, as she stood up, she pinched him extra hard in the neck for feminism’s sake.

   “Not sure how I’m going to top that one, but apparently loads of blokes have,” Pansy snarked, receiving a ripple of sniggers across the room.

   Much to her amusement, Dennis gave up a rallying whoop for the sake of sibling embarrassment. Colin looked sufficiently mortified, so Pansy decided she would have to pump Theo for details later.

   “Get your minds out of the gutter,” she scolded, avoiding eye-contact with Narcissa and Lucius at all costs. “We’re here to talk about marriage.”

   Quick as ever, Pansy pulled praise and anecdotes out of thin air. Sure, she meant most of them, but she had never actually planned out what she wanted to say to her best friend on the ‘happiest day of his life’.

   “…And that’s why they’re perfect for one another,” Pansy wrapped up neatly. “Good thing they finally tied the knot. Here’s to you two.”

   The room let out another spirited cheer and before anyone knew it, it was Hermione’s turn.

   She stood and her cocoa skirts ruffled out around her. Luckily, the baby bump hadn’t ruined her opportunity to wear the dress she had spent so much money on for Draco’s sake. For a second, Harry marveled at how beautiful she looked. She had grown, too.

   “Harry,” she started, opting not to use her wand and to project with her voice. “You have been a brother to me ever since we were children.”

   “And Draco…” As she trailed off, the room echoed with laughter. Draco noted that he was an idiot for bullying someone with superb speaking skills, and listened carefully. “I feel like I’m just starting to get to know you.”

   “Even though I was a little averse to your being with Harry at first, which I had entirely good reason to be, I think you’ve changed my mind.”

   “So I’ve done the impossible?” Draco jeered.

   “You’re not out of the woods yet, Malfoy-Potter.”

   He probably deserved that.

   “But you two are the godfathers of my child,” Hermione announced with satisfaction. “I think Ron and I made the proper choice with you, though. You bring out the best in one another and together, you’re pretty unstoppable.”

   “Draco,” she said, starting with him this time. “You always make sure Harry takes care of himself, and I know you would do anything for him. Well, most anything.” Draco actually smiled at that one. “I can tell you make Harry more at ease, I can see it.”

   “Harry, you bring out Draco’s compassion. You play up on each other’s sense of adventure, and I can tell just how happy you make him.” Hermione never knew how she wanted Draco to be happy until she saw it. At least he was more kind when happy.

   “I think that’s what changed my mind,” Hermione admitted. “Knowing that you make each other happy, and that this is really what you want. I won’t keep everyone from the dance floor any longer, so I’ll cut myself off here with my conclusion: that you’re going to have a wonderful marriage.”

   Finally, the room was in full applause. Even Lucius and Narcissa had been pleased with that speech, having put down their food to get a better view of the woman they had once dismissed as an impure little girl.

   “Let’s dance!” Draco announced, sending a bolt from his wand over to the DJ booth so that the music would play.

   It was an upbeat song that reminded Harry of Fleur’s wedding, when everyone had been dancing and carefree before the Death Eaters invaded.

   When Draco took his hand to lead him to the floor, he shook away all thoughts of that night. This was his wedding, it cost a fortune, and he’d be damned if he let anyone interrupt it.


	41. Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 of the reception!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all had/are having a happy holiday season! A joyous Kwanzaa to all. This chapter is for Mallika, my muse, because of the Deehan and the fact that I will never let her live that down. Ever.

**Chapter 41: Family**

Once the dancing had died down, another squadron of servingpeople can armed with plates full of salmon, eggplants, and sides of golden-fried potato coquette. Buffet tables sprung to life around the room, each representing their own genre of food.

   The table of Indian food had been put near the head table with Sirius and Remus in mind, knowing their affinity for Masala. To the left of those were tables of Italian pastas, Chinese chicken dishes, and a salad bar for anyone who didn’t want to take advantage of the delicacies being offered because of some ridiculous diet or another.

   Needless to say, the salad bar went virtually untouched. Fred Junior just happened to have an affinity for croutons, was all.

   Harry didn’t know where to start. Plate now full of samosas, ribs, Pad Thai and a slice of pizza, his mind was dominated entirely by thoughts of eating. Beautiful, expensive eating. Once he added a spring roll to his plate, Harry ended his United Nations of Food meeting and took his hoard back to the head table.

   He was pleased to see that Draco had shared in the gluttony.

   After popping a chunk of Cajun-rubbed turkey in his mouth, Draco made a vaguely pornographic moan. “Worth it,” Draco sighed happily. All the caterers he called, all the prices he bargained down, and all the menus printed in fancy font were worth it.

   “You look like you’ve died and gone to food heaven,” Harry said with a laugh, sitting down among the laughter and conversation of his friends.

   “I have, I really have.” Screw the guests, this buffet was for _him_. “I hope you like eating leftovers for the next couple of months.”

   “I love leftovers,” Harry told him. “I seem to recall that you’re the one who demands fresh food.”

   “Do I?” Draco asked innocently, a coy hand on his chest. Even he couldn’t keep that act up for too long, and wound up laughing.

   Still smiling, he leaned over to give Harry a kiss. Draco was met with warm lips in spite of the barbeque sauce on the corner of his mouth. Disgustingly enough, it gave the kiss flavor. Marriage was strange so far.

   “I think at some point we have to thank them,” Draco sighed. “Like a real and proper married couple.”

   Harry shrugged. “Vegas is still an option.”

   “Prick,” he murmured, full of satisfaction either way.

   Harry was close enough to see his pale eyelashes in detail, with a speck of dust caught in one. It was too precious for Harry to bat away, so he let it be as he drank in his husband. “I love you,” Harry reminded him as he took his hand.

   “Really?” Draco asked jokingly. “I hadn’t the slightest idea.”

   “I know it’s a shock, but please bear with me.”

   “I’ll try, Malfoy-Potter.”

   “Now,” Harry said. “Let’s talk at some people while they eat.”

   Draco rolled his eyes. “My _favorite_ thing.”

   Taking the embroidered napkin off of his lap, Harry stood to capture the attention of the room. “Hello, everyone.”

   “Hello!” Victoire yelled, waving.

   She really was a sweetheart. It made the father in Harry want to give her a piggyback ride and watch cartoons with her. “Since all of our friends have gotten to say something, it’s about time we thanked you,” Draco started for Harry.

   “You’ve been there for us in so much, not just for the wedding,” Harry picked up. He’d gotten around to writing his vows, so this couldn’t be too horrible. Right? “But for everything.”

   Draco continued in the next part. “A big thanks to the Weasley family for their special brand of moral support, with lots of home cooked meals,” he said with a smile that was oddly close to genuine.

   “And of course, it wouldn’t be complete without thanking the Lupins,” Harry added. “Remus and Sirius are the best family I could have asked for. Their practically infinite wisdom on marriage has helped,” he joked lightly. “But they’re even better at listening.”

   Remus and Sirius smiled to one another, clasping hands. They really were wonderful fairy godfathers.

  When they had discussed this in their plans, Draco figured they should end it there. Harry, however, seemed to be full of surprises. “There are two more people I’d like to thank,” he said before Draco could sit down. “And they would be my new in-laws.”

   Even Lucius and Narcissa were surprised by that one.

   “I know you didn’t like the idea of Draco and I getting married at first—“ The audience got a laugh out of that major understatement. “But I’m really glad you’ve come around. Really. You’ve made me feel, strangely enough, at home. Like this is the family I, uh,” he tried to keep his cool. “I always wanted.” Draco wrapped his arms around him, leaving the room to launch a thunderous applause.

   Maybe he’d tell Draco that there would be an opportunity for him to meet his own in-laws. It would all be thanks to Lucius, either way.

   “To everyone,” Draco said, reaching down for his glass so he could raise it on high. “To the family.”

******

   When the second round of dancing wore down to Hermione and Ron rocking arm-in-arm in the center of the room, a pleasantly buzzed Draco and Harry found themselves in a corner of the room, kissing and whispering between themselves.

   “My sweet boy,” Draco murmured, giving him another quick peck. “I feel like I haven’t touched you in so long.”

   “You have the whole honeymoon for that,” Harry reminded him. Leaning in even closer, he nibbled on Draco’s ear. “Two weeks, doing whatever you want to me.”

   “Whatever I want?”

   “Anything.” After a month of stress, Harry wanted nothing more but to melt away in his arms. “Tie me down, dress me up, anything.”

   Draco curled a hand into his hair, leaning close. “And you’ll get to play with all the toys we bought. Or, I’ll get to play with them. And you.”

   “Yes Sir,” Harry laughed into the slope of his neck, loving the sound of that.

   They were about to seal the deal with another steamy kiss when a small child in a dress ran straight into the fantasy and shattered it where it stood. “Uncle Draco, Uncle ‘Arry, when are we having cake?” she asked, hands folded eagerly.

   “Cake,” Draco remembered, retracting the hand that had been creeping up Harry’s thigh.

   “Right, cake,” Harry nodded. “Er, why don’t you go sit down and we’ll start the dessert, okay?”

   Victoire jumped up and down clapping before she rushed back to her mother’s lap.

   “Cake,” Draco repeated. “We’ll have leftovers of the cake, too.”

   “Then you’ll just have to get used to eating them off of me,” Harry said as if it was just as casual as suggesting Draco go buy milk, since they were running out. Like a white tiger stalking his prey, Draco followed Harry back into the center of the room.

   From the side entrance, the waiters had been signaled to begin the cake cutting. When the molten tower of dribbling chocolate entered the room, Draco’s breath caught in his throat. It was even more beautiful than he’d dreamed.

   The seven separate layers stretched to the high-vaulted ceiling, separated by thin layers of icing in between the moist chocolate cakes. Along the right side, a vine of charmed icing with fondant violets blooming along the side and dripping with even more melted chocolate icing.

   As homage to the other flavors they had tried out while cake-shopping, chocolate chips were embedded at the base of each layer so they were clearly defined by the accents. It almost glowed under the candles and chandelier light.

   Baked to perfection with a blonde and dark-brunette man on top was their cake. Their dream cake, living and ready to be devoured.

   “ _Merlin_ ,” Harry said in amazement, looking to Draco. “You did it.”

   Just before Draco could say the most cloying thing that ever came to his mind (‘no, _we_ did it’), a gem-encrusted hilt of a knife was in his hand.

   Colin didn’t even need to yell the usual ‘say cheese!’ that most customers needed since their smiles were so big. Then again, Harry and Draco Malfoy-Potter were not most customers in any sense of the phrase. On his knee, he got a shot of them cutting the first two pieces.

   Flash!

   The look they exchanged before smashing the cake into each other’s faces.

   Flash!

   Draco looking positively horrified that some chocolate got on his lapel.

   Flash!

   Harry raising his wand to clean it off, and quieted him with a kiss on the lips.

   All in all, a great roll of photography with two gorgeous men smearing cake on each other’s faces. Maybe Colin would hang one of them in a gallery.

   “Messy,” Draco sighed, licking some chocolate icing off of his bottom lip.

   “You usually like messy,” Harry pointed out.

   As Colin packed away his camera for the time being, the rest of the wedding party flocked to the cake in awe. He was hoping to hop on the line in a second, and then his hopes doubled when he saw who was at the back of it.

   Walking over confidently, Colin wordlessly slipped his arm through Theo’s.

   “Well, hey there,” the Slytherin smiled, the height difference allowing Theo to give him a kiss on the forehead.

   “And hello to you. You’re looking sharp,” Colin said with a grin.

   “Yeah, I figured I had to dress up for my best mate’s wedding. It only happens once in a lifetime, hopefully.”

   Colin let out a light laugh. “I think they’ll make it. If they can’t, then who can?” he asked.

   That was a very good question. From the way Draco and Harry looked right now, if that could last a lifetime, they could start their own marriage counseling talk show. If Draco ever agreed to appear on a muggle television.

   Once everyone had a slice of their own chocolate heaven, the room was abuzz with conversation and music. Even Narcissa tucked away her ‘always leave something on the plate’ policy and downed the cake slice with a delightful enthusiasm. Even her husband took notice, smiling to himself.

   Draco was done with his second slice when his bottomless pit of a stomach finally reached its maximum volume. It was a rare occurrence. “Harry?” he asked quietly, leaning back in his pearly white chair.

   “Mmpf?” Harry responded, mouth full of cake.

   “What was it you were saying a while ago? About some kind of mother-son dance?”

   Finally, Harry swallowed. “Yeah, I saw Bill and Molly have one at Bill’s wedding. You don’t have to, you know.”

   “I know,” Draco told him as he stood, leaving Harry to finish up his first piece.

   Suddenly, there he was. Narcissa’s beautiful son was now a married man standing in front of her. “Sweetheart,” she cooed when she saw Draco on the other side of the table. “Tell me, how are you doing?”

   Draco leaned in close to his mother for a kiss on the cheek. “I’m doing brilliantly,” Draco said, white-blonde hair shining as brightly as his toothy smile. “I wanted to ask you something.”

   “Yes, you can still call this off,” Lucius offered from his wife’s side.

   “Father?”

   “Yes?”

   “Shut up,” Draco sighed, outstretching his hand for his mother to take. In good humor and because of the magnitude of the day, Lucius let the disrespect slide. He couldn’t exactly tell Draco to go to his room for the rest of the night anymore. That hadn’t even really been a suitable punishment, since Draco spent all of his time in his room or out of the house anyway.

   Once he’d guided his mother away from the head table, Draco was at ease. “I wanted to ask you if you would do the honor of dancing with me.”

   “Oh, Draco,” Narcissa said, one hand over her heart. “Of course.”

   With a deep bow, Draco offered her his own hand. Gracefully, she took it. It reminded Narcissa of the days of solstice parties and cocktail hours with the pureblood men and women she’d come to hold so dear. She saw some parts of them in Draco, in his ambition and his sense of tradition, but he was a far cry from what they had been.

   Narcissa allowed her son to lead her around the dance floor, spinning and twirling effortlessly. Even the Weasleys had stopped shoveling down cake to admire the grace of it.

   “You’ve been practicing,” she said proudly.

   “I had a good teacher,” Draco replied. He’d been up to his mother’s waist when she first took him into their ballroom so that Lucius could play them a song on the piano. It had been summer, and Draco hadn’t even gotten his first wand yet.

   The song playing now was A Fuoco, an Italian piece that Draco knew his mother loved. If she closed her eyes, Narcissa could see her son laughing and smiling with friends, playing on the grand staircase of the Manor.

   But she would rather keep her eyes open as she danced around the room. The smile on Draco’s face now was even better knowing how much he’d been through. Narcissa knew she would be an emotional mess by the end of the day, but had never expected it to be this strong of a force. It had been dormant due to fear for too long.

   Fears of Lucius’ acceptance, Harry’s dangerous job, and of Draco’s reluctance for a family. They were all gone; she could see that in him now.

   “I love you so much,” Narcissa told her Big Grown Man when they finished their dance, resting a hand on his cheek.

   Ron would have sniggered out a ‘momma’s boy’ while watching it all unfold, but he quickly remembered how his own mother had been at his wedding. It was quite the scene.

   “And I love you,” Draco said, free of any embarrassment that usually came from Narcissa smoothing down his hair in public and fixing his buttons.

   A thousand praises came to Narcissa’s mind, but she decided another kiss on the cheek would work just as well. No need to start blubbering in front of the whole family.

   Back at the table, it seemed that with Theo sharing his cake with Colin and Pansy laughing with a martini in her hand at the bar at something Maggie had said, the buffer between Lucius and Harry had disappeared.

   Harry was the first to take advantage of it.

   Slowly but surely, he moved over seat by seat, keeping his eyes on Draco and Narcissa in the middle of the dance floor. When Harry finally sat down in the seat next to Lucius, the man’s attention was stirred.

   “Harry,” Lucius greeted with a nod, well-into his glasses of champagne. “How does it feel to be marrying up?”

   Noticing his father-in-law’s current inebriated state, Harry grinned. “Pretty damn good.”

   “That’s to be expected. He’s way out of your league,” Lucius slurred his words a little, pointing at his son.

   Harry had never been sober(ish) long enough to see Lucius in a drunken state, and he was wildly amused. “Yes, yes he is. But, uh, I just wanted to—“

   “Count yourself lucky, Golden Boy.”

   “I do, actually.”

   Lucius nodded and finished off his current glass of champagne. “Good.”

   “Anyway,” Harry started again. “I just wanted to really thank you for earlier today. I didn’t know I needed that until, well, you gave me the stone.”

   “Anything for family,” Lucius shrugged, making a face that Harry had to hold back a laugh at. “You needed a father’s advice, and I was not technically your father yet.”

   “And now you are?” he asked, still grinning.

   Lucius looked at him as if it was obvious. “I’m probably going to regret this in the morning,” he murmured, leaning in close to Harry. As a matter of fact, Lucius would forget this conversation ever happened in the morning and would have to be reminded by Harry and Narcissa that it most definitely went down.  “But, if you wanted to…” Harry was practically on the edge of his seat. What drunken revelation was he about to receive? “Since I am your father-in-law…”

   “Yes?”

   “You could call me father.”

   Harry was absolutely stunned silent. For a second, anyway. After that, his laughter almost overtook him. “Really?” he asked, smiling from ear to ear. It was almost unbelievable. This was the man who had hated him mere months ago, after all. Maybe he should get Lucius drunk more often.

   “Really,” Lucius confirmed, summoning a waiter for another glass of champagne. Oh, his poor pureblood liver.

   “Lucius Malfoy,” Harry said carefully. “That was probably the biggest mistake you’ve ever made in your entire life.”

   “Probably,” Lucius mumbled into his new glass. His ‘family first’ mindset probably included a clause for in-laws, but it had escaped him entirely.

   When the next song started up and Draco resumed dancing his with mother, Harry didn’t have enough willpower to resist the words coming out of his mouth. “Then would you like to dance, _Dad_?”

_Definitely the biggest mistake I’ve ever made_ , Lucius decided before sloppily giving Harry his hand.

   Amidst a turn with his mother, Draco wondered for a moment if he was hallucinating. Maybe that wedding stress had gone to his head and he needed to start visiting Doctor Cheryl himself.

   He stopped in his tracks. “Is that…?”

   “You know how your father gets at parties.” Narcissa had to cover her mouth to keep her laughing too obviously. Even she knew this was ridiculous for even her Lucius.

   But there he was, guiding Harry in a waltz while trying to retain an air of regality.

   When Sirius noticed, there was no stopping the laughter. “Malfoy’s completely foxed,” he chuckled to Remus.

   “It’s beautiful,” Remus responded with a grin to match his husband’s. “I may cry.”

   “Shall we join them?” Sirius asked, standing to give him a debonair look.

   “Why, I believe we shall,” he answered, taking Sirius’ arm and walking to the dance floor in gallant strides.

   With Lucius and Harry laughing and tripping over themselves for entirely different reasons in the center of the madness, more couples filed in to join them.

   “When in Rome,” Pansy shrugged, dragging a very reluctant Maggie to join her.

  Almost the entire wedding party had gathered on the floor, where Lucius and Harry’s waltz had dissolved into an unbridled jig. The next song to play was a spirited Irish reel that had the whole room spinning. Every degree of inebriation led to a frenzy of bodies draped in their finest robes and dresses that almost reminded Draco of the night clubs he’d been to the night before.

   Except, in the center of the universe this time around, Harry was there.

   With a clap, everyone grabbed a new partner and swung them around. Harry found himself arm-in-arm with Blaise while Draco’s father stumbled into his son to continue the dance.

   Partners switched again and again and again, leaving everyone breathless and with smiles so big their faces ached. Charlie gave Draco a turn when they swapped partners again, sending Draco directly towards his husband.

   “Draco,” Harry laughed in surprise, leading him around this time.

   “I don’t know what you did to my father,” Draco said above the music. “But please continue doing it.”

   “He said I could call him ‘father’!”

  “ _What_?”

   Harry almost lost his footing for a moment, but kept an arm firmly around Draco’s waist. “Don’t look so horrified, I don’t think he even realizes he said that. And it’s sort of weird; makes us sound like we’re brothers.”

   “How pureblood,” Draco mock-scoffed. “Since they’re all here, how about we throw the bouquets? I want to freak out some of our more single friends.”

   Had Draco actually used ‘ _our_ ’ friends? It made Harry’s stomach flutter. “Yeah,” he breathed, continuing his dance until the music faded into a lighter mix.

   Draco held his wand up to give an announcement over the music. “Come one, come all! It’s time to see who catches the bouquets. Don’t you start running, Panda!”

   Crossing her arms in frustration at the nick-name, Pansy stayed put.

   In the meantime, Harry fetched their flowers from their seats only to catch another amusing glimpse of Narcissa putting her husband in his own chair and propping him up. What a strange, wonderful thing he married into.

   “Here,” Harry said, handing Draco his bouquet. The crowd behind them tittered with excitement as the music volume wound down, all in anticipation of their own while the married members of the wedding created a line in the back of the room.

   “Let’s scare the shit out of them,” Draco murmured to Harry with a wink, turning so that his back was facing the unmarried masses. It was strange, knowing he and Harry would be standing in the back of the room at any future weddings, laughing to themselves and swapping secrets that only married people knew. It was a tiny bit like joining a cult.

   Polite and generally confused Hannah Abbott was at the front of the pack, commitment on her mind. It was the only part of the wedding thus far that Hannah had actually understood fully.

   “On the count of three,” Draco said, holding the expensive cluster of flowers and crystals in front of him with both hands. Harry nodded to show he understood, smiling wide. “One… Two… Three!”

   The two bouquets went flying in the air, soaring over guests who were either screaming to grab it or wincing away like it was a fireball being hurled onto unsuspecting victims.

   Draco and Harry turned at once to see who they had cursed with an upcoming wedding, and found very satisfying results.

   “Oh Merlin,” Colin muttered, looking down at the violets in disbelief.

   “He’s got you now, Nott!” Dennis yelled, laughing hysterically over his brother’s dumb luck. Theo was as white as a ghost.

   The other bouquet had ended up in another Gryffindor’s hands. Molly practically screamed with excitement when she saw it. “Charlie! I told you that you’re cut out for weddings,” Molly joked, getting on her tip-toes to kiss his cheek.

   “Sure, mum,” Charlie laughed, looking down at his intricate bouquet. What was he even supposed to do with these flowers? The sanctuary wasn’t exactly stocked with vases. “Whatever you say.”

   It may have been a little white lie, but it made Molly happy.

   After dances, another round of desert with black-and-white cookies and cupcakes with ‘D+H’ decorations, and absolute exploitation of the open bar, the night began to draw to a close.

   Harry hadn’t even realized there had been a clock in the room until Draco nudged him with a reminder. Fifteen minutes to midnight. Fifteen minutes until they grabbed their pre-packed suitcases and headed to the Malfoy house in Bermuda. Harry would carry him over that damned threshold if it killed him.

   The magicked instruments and DJ table had gone with the winding down mood of the room and played the song Draco and Harry had chosen for their last dance.

   Once again, their hands met in the middle and the floor belonged to them and them only. This dance seemed to go even quicker than the first, both of them a mixture of exhausted and jumpy for their vacation together. Would it still count as living in sin since they were gay, or would their shagging be blessed under the view of some god? Draco definitely didn’t want to have to pray after an orgasm. That would really kill the mood.

   “My husband,” Draco tried out as they swayed, his arms around Harry’s shoulders. “My spouse. Hm.”

   “Like it?” Harry asked.

   Fiancée had sounded more romantic. “I think I may. I’m still fonder of calling you ‘Harry’, though. Or some form of ‘my little slut’.”

   “I’m sure your parents would love to hear that,” he teased. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Ron packing up the wedding gifts and Hermione moving their suitcases next to the empty fireplace adorned in ribbons and ‘just married’ decorations.

   Draco had picked up on it as well. “Theo said he got the house all ready with Ron, and I don’t know whether or not to be scared of what they’ve done,” Draco told his husband. Sure, Ron and Hermione probably stocked the kitchen with delicious food while Theo and Pansy handled the bedroom, but still. They were walking into uncharted land.

   “Let’s go see, then.” Harry stopped his dancing and took Draco’s hand.

   Around the fireplace stood (for those who could stand, some leaned) the people they had invited to share this day with them. Some smiling, some chatting it up with newfound friends, and some looking exhausted. Poor Arthur hadn’t known what he was in for.

   “May your wedding bed be fruitful!” Luna waived, her flowery dress still looking as beautiful as ever even though the night was over. Next to her was a beaming Neville, his pocket heavy with a ring of his own.

   “Get some!” yelled a male voice that Draco immediately knew was a part of his side of the party.

   The chorus of cries had Draco beaming and Harry blushing. “Don’t forget your gift bags,” he reminded them as they walked to the fireplace. “And thanks again.”

   Victoire and Fred Junior had been put on bubble patrol to keep them distracted enough not to notice the raunchy things Pansy was screaming at the grooms. The trademarked Unpoppable Bubbles that George’s shop had stocked up on were in their hands and filling the room with translucent orbs.

   “Go make some babies!” Pansy continued to yell.

   Much to her surprise, a drunken Lucius mumbled an, “If only”. The desire for grandchildren seemed to skyrocket when champagne was added into the mix.

   After taking a handful of floo powder each, Draco and Harry stepped into the fire place. The last of their wedding they saw was Sirius giving them a double thumbs-up with the rest of the guests gathered around him in the center, waving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TIME TO GET PORNY, YEEHAW! I missed writing smut.


	42. Dog Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Excerpts from the honeymoon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is for Izzy, because she asked for the most explicit chapter of my fic to be dedicated in her honor. I’m writing the author’s note before I write the chapter, and my comments about the chapter will be at the end.

**Chapter 42: Dog Days**

   The floo dropped them off just where they had planned. Harry had never seen the Malfoy house in Bermuda before, but he knew exactly where they were by the look on Draco’s face.

   The couch and chairs facing the fireplace were a creamy white, adorned in seashells and beads. The walls looked like canvases, leaving no room for framed paintings since the walls themselves were already covered in brush strokes that made waves and beaches along the walls. The charmed paint even showed reeds of beach plants swaying in the breeze.

   The house was a paradise, and Draco’s face reflected that. “Beautiful,” he breathed. “Isn’t it?”

   “Beautiful,” Harry agreed, his eyes having wandered back to his husband in the newly-cleaned fireplace. Taking him by surprise, Harry ghosted his fingers over Draco’s lips. Draco’s head turned to him immediately, a short breath escaping him.

   Without another word, Draco pulled him in for a kiss. Harry wasted no time hauling him in even closer and pressing him up against the maw of the fireplace.

   The only reason in the entire world that Harry broke the kiss seconds later was to drop down and scoop a surprised Draco up, bridal style.

   “What—?” Draco gasped, clinging to Harry’s neck for support. When he realized what was happening, Draco wriggled a little in Harry’s arms. “You better not drop me.”

   “I’ll try not to,” Harry laughed.

   He carried Draco across the length of the living room and to the stairs, facing them bravely if not exhaustedly.

   “Bedroom?” he managed when he got to the top, not knowing which way to go through the maze of halls and doors.

   Draco found he quite liked being carried. They would have to do this more often. “All the way down the hall and to the right, manservant.”

   “Fuck you,” Harry laughed.

   “You can once you get me in bed, you impatient little whore.”

   He had half a mind to just put him down and shag him there. “Mm,” he grinned anyway. “I love it when you call me names.” When Harry finally reached the door, he wandlessly opened it.

   That was where their friends’ handiwork became obvious. A trail of violet petals (which Draco hoped were not from his incredibly luxurious flower designs) led them to the bed, further adorned in all kinds of flower petals.

   Some of them, Draco noted, were pansies.

   The bed, just like Draco remembered, was shaped like an open oyster. The sheets were a refreshing coral, with white circular pillows for pearls on the inside. Even the shell was as bejeweled as the furniture downstairs.

   Wasting no more time, Harry rushed to the opening of the bed and laid Draco down on his back. Crawling in over him, he was almost shaking with anticipation. Or maybe that was muscle fatigue.

   Either way, his lips were back on Draco’s before he could as much as wonder. Even faster were his hands, ripping open every button of Draco’s shirt. The little white buttons went flying across the room in every direction, like miniature pearls in the clam’s mouth.

   Draco could care less about the goddamn buttons. Every inch of exposed skin was a rush, the warm and salty seaside air rolling over him.

   Finally, after Harry had destroyed the front of his husband’s wedding attire, he pushed the white robes off of his sculpted shoulders. “Brute,” Draco purred, bringing him in for a kiss so rough that their teeth clacked together. Amazingly enough, both of them were too hot for each other to care.

   Marriage.

   Harry’s hips moved in slow, aching circles against Draco’s as he spread his legs to straddle the other man. His tongue ran along Draco’s bottom lip and to his jawline, coming to rest as Harry bit him right below the ear, his breath moving against that pale skin he loved so much.

   “Your clothes,” Draco gasped out after the teeth sunk in. “Take your fucking clothes off.”

   Never one to ignore an order from his Draco, Harry tore at his own buttons until the shirt was a mess of threads. Discarding it behind him made it all too easy to forget how much money they’d spent on the damn things.

   Blood hot with desire, Harry also decided that their shoes and socks had to go. _Now_. Using his wand, he whisked them to the other side of the room, tugging at the tight material of Draco’s trousers all the while.

   “Fuck, I want you,” Harry panted, managing to rip open the side of the trousers and slide them off of Draco hips.

   Next came his light-blue briefs, the one that cupped his arse so nicely. They never stood a chance in Harry’s path. “ _Someone_ isn’t inexperienced on his wedding night,” Draco teased in reference to Harry’s manhandling. It was actually a definite turn on.

   “And _someone_ isn’t a blushing little virgin bride,” he retorted, reaching down and giving Draco’s erect cock a twist in his hand.

   Draco’s back arched and he let out a hiss. “I’m going to get you for this later.”

   “Damn right you are,” Harry grinned as he slid off his own trousers. The day had been such a whirlwind of excitement that he hadn’t even realized he’d been wearing the blue panties that Draco bought him.

   It really was a gorgeous sight, one that made Draco have to clutch the base of his cock for some relief. Harry used that to his full advantage as he kept the panties on, rubbing the bulge in them against Draco’s erection.

   He let out a whine, thrusting his hips up blindly. “ _Harry_ ,” he begged.

   Unable to stand the torture himself, Harry threw his panties to the side and accio’d a nearby bottle of lube. Watermelon flavored, at that. He would have tried to guess which friend but that there, but the only one on his mind right now was Draco and the beautiful way he bit his lip as Harry pushed two fingers in at once.

   Sweating already, Draco spread his legs wider and pulled Harry down by his shoulders so that he could kiss him.

   As Harry adjusted to the new position with ease, lining up the head of his cock with Draco’s opened hole, he let out a shudder. This was his husband, his future, his life, and he was ready to take it all for his own.

   Harry pushed inside Draco with a groan that made Draco’s cock leak. He knew neither of them was going to last long, but that didn’t matter.

   The concentrated look in Harry’s eyes made the molten moment even better, his hips slamming into Draco with nothing holding him back. Draco nails dug into him and his tongue lapped at his, desperate for more, more, more.

   When Harry’s hand wrapped around Draco’s prick again, he was right on the edge. “Harry,” he moaned into his mouth. “Harder, Harry, yes—“

   “Draco, Draco, yes!” He roared, a burst of heat erupting in his stomach as they both came together in one beautiful mess. Almost immediately afterward, they collapsed out of sheer exhaustion.

   Harry was too tired to even pull out. He rested his head on Draco’s chest and busied himself with giving his soft skin as many kisses as he could. Draco’s hands were content right where they were, buried in his husband’s raven hair.

   It was surreal. Harry felt as if they were in a palace by the sea, suspended in a dream that would break as soon as he fell asleep. Lovingly, he moved his knuckles up and down Draco’s arm. “You’re wonderful,” Harry sighed.

   Usually, Draco would have given him a dismissive ‘you’re not so bad yourself’, but this felt different than Harry’s constant affection. “You make me happy.” A careful finger traced the vertebrae of Harry’s neck.

   “I’m glad,” Harry smiled, listening to Draco’s heartbeat even out. “I love you.”

   “I love you too. I actually just married you.”

   Harry feigned shock. “That was what today was about?”

   “Apparently so,” Draco murmured, the world around Harry going a little hazy. “Now you better get your rest, you need to keep up your stamina.”

   When Harry went to move, Draco’s hands kept him where he was; still inside him.

   “Goodnight,” Draco said in a sing-song voice, back to his wit.

   “’Night,” Harry mumbled into his skin, giving in and letting the living dream-world ebb away as he drifted into his own dreams.

******

   After a delicious breakfast in bed, Draco and Harry had a whole day full of nothing ahead of them. It was divine.

   “Let’s never work again,” Harry decided, burrowing his feet under the pink-dappled sand.

   “Or just extend this indefinitely,” Draco nodded. The sun warmed his pale skin, the layers of high-powered sunscreen that Harry had rubbed on him fading. “After all, we do own this house.”

   “Was it in the prenup?” Harry teased, having almost forgotten about that whole ordeal.

   Draco shrugged. “Let’s burn it. We could make a bonfire like Sirius did with all his parent’s things. I imagine it’s incredibly satisfying.” Draco lifted his ice-cold lemonade off of the tray next to him and sipped through the straw.

   “Wouldn’t _Papa_ be angry with that?”

   “ _Lucius_ can fuck off,” Draco laughed.

   “Ah, he’s not so bad. He didn’t object,” Harry pointed out.

   The sunglasses that Draco had bought especially for the trip came in handy as the one cloud in the sky moved and stopped blocking the sun out. “I guess he’s come a long way. Or whatever.”

   “Or whatever,” Harry agreed with a sip from his own lemonade.

   Draco pulled his Harry close, his chin resting on Draco’s shoulder. “Did your parents really call me their ‘second son’?” The conversation had been over blueberry pancakes and Draco had held his hand the whole time.

   “Of course,” Harry assured him.

   “That’s sort of brotherly,” he joked.

   “Well, growing up an only child was pretty miserable.”

   Draco grinned. “And you had that dreadful cousin, too. I was at least spoiled with every passing fancy I had.”

   “So was my cousin,” Harry teased, getting a swat on the arm from his husband.

   Even though Theo and Pansy had been like siblings to Draco, he’d always wished he had a real one. One that he could have shared Christmases with and went to their birthday parties. “It’s like what happens when you buy a dog.”

   “What do you know about dogs? The only one you like is Sirius,” he grinned.

   “Yeah, but if you only buy one and you’re always busy like we are, it gets lonely,” Draco said with a strange certainty. “All it has is its owners and the sound of birds in the outside world.”

   Harry frowned, curling into Draco and searching his face for an explanation. “What are you talking about?”

   “Dogs,” Draco lied.

   “Erm, okay.”

   “What I’m trying to say,” he told Harry in a voice barely above a whisper. “Is that being an only child wasn’t exactly a world of fun. And that if we were to, you know…”

   “Get dogs?” Harry finished for him, amused.

   “Then we’d definitely need more than one.”

   The word of the hour was ‘disbelief’. “You’d want more than one kid?” Harry asked.

   “Woah,” Draco said, putting his hands up defensively. “Dogs. I’m talking about dogs.”

   It was progress, Harry supposed. “So, if we were to… Adopt dogs. You would want more than one?”

   Draco nodded.

   “I would, too,” Harry agreed, giving the love of his life a kiss.

******

   Harry knew it was on the second Draco had finished dinner. He’d led Harry up to the master bedroom with a purpose in his heavy steps.

   “Take your trunks off,” Draco demanded. They’d already been wearing minimal clothing for swimming, and in all honesty they were more for the house than anything. After all, they’d already made sandy, admittedly not as comfortable as it looked in the movies, yet wonderful love on the beach just the day before. Draco had built a sandcastle around Harry the day before that.

   When Harry dropped his red swimming trousers, Draco wondered why clothing was even necessary at this point. It was a shame to hide something so beautiful that belonged to Draco so entirely.

   “That’s my pretty boy,” Draco smirked as he walked over and sunk his fist into Harry’s hair. “Now get _down_.” Harry’s knees buckled as Draco dragged him by his hair to kneel. “Stay here.”

   “Yes, Sir.”

   Letting go of his hair with a rough tug, Draco sauntered over to his suitcase on the other side of the room. He stepped out of his own trunks before Harry even knew what was happening. Even though he’d seen Draco’s arse almost every day since they’d moved in together, Harry still felt himself quiver on his knees.

   The only thing more frustrating than staying still was not being able to see what Draco was fishing out of his bag. When he seemed satisfied with his selection, Draco began his walk back.

   In one swift motion, he ripped the glasses from Harry’s face and tossed them aside. “You’ve been very bad.”

   “Yes I have been, Sir,” Harry managed.

   “Remind me what I do to bad sluts like you?” Draco asked, dropping to Harry’s level to look him in the eyes.

   “You punish them, Sir.”

   Draco revealed what was in his hand. The tight, vibrating, and silver cock ring that they’d purchased from the shop. “Suck on it,” Draco ordered, forcing it into Harry’s mouth past those pink lips.

   The metal was surprisingly cold in his mouth.

   “I said ‘suck on it’, not ‘sit there like a fucking idiot’.”

   Harry submitted to following him and to trusting him implicitly. “Yush Shur,” he tried with a full mouth.

   That at least made Draco laugh. “Good boy.”

   Seeing that Harry was finally getting into the swing of things, Draco summoned his wand along with the other toys he’d pulled from their little treasure chest.

   “Incendio,” he murmured, lighting the wick of blood-red candle.

   Draco placed the candle on the edge of the oyster bed before turning his attention back to the gorgeous and naked man on his bedroom floor. Sinking back to Harry’s height, he put his hand palm up towards him. Harry took that as a sign to stop sucking, and placed the ring in Draco’s hand with his teeth.

   Inspecting it carefully, Draco decided that it was enough. “Spread your legs,” he said imperiously.

   A blush came to Harry’s neck when he realized he was getting hard just being ordered around. He opened his knees up wider anyway. This was a safe space, and this was Draco.

   Roughly, Draco pulled him into the cock ring scrotum-first. Harry bit down hard, if only to make sure he didn’t whimper. Showing a sign of weakness this early would be his defeat. Once it was securely around his cock and balls, Draco grabbed his wand again.

   “I have a feeling you’re going to like this,” Draco purred, pressing the tip of his wand up against the silver ring and murmuring something in the crook right below Harry’s ear.

   It probably shouldn’t have surprised Harry that a wand was all it took to make the ring vibrate, but a loud noise of shock escaped him anyway.

   That only made Draco laugh more. “Arms out,” he smirked, using his wand to charm the rope he’d stocked near the candle before Harry could even properly comply. “What? Can’t keep up with me? Lazy. I’ll punish you for that, too.”

   The ropes fastened themselves to opposite sides of the room and Harry could feel a slight stretch in the spaces where his arms met his chest muscles. “Sorry, Sir.” Oh, he would be sore in the morning.

   Gently, Draco stroked the top of Harry’s head. It was a little like petting, in all honesty. “Now I have you just where I want you,” he murmured. “Scared?”

   “No, Sir.”

   “Gryffindor until the end,” Draco laughed, summoning the candle to him. A thin pool of melted wax had formed over the top, and from afar it looked like blood.

   Even Harry grinned at that one. “Of course, Sir.”

   “That’s my boy.” Draco waited a moment longer, caressing Harry’s cheek with his hand before starting.

   Draco positioned himself over Harry’s right hand, slowly moving past the rope and inward towards his wrist. Experimentally, Harry tipped the candle and poured the hot wax onto the soft skin on the inside of Harry’s forearm.

   Harry let out a sharp gasp, trying to retract his hand. “Fuck!”

   Wordlessly, Draco let another drop fall higher on Harry’s arm. Harry writhed against his bonds in a futile effort to get away. “Talk to me, baby,” Draco murmured into Harry’s ear, his chest pressed up against the slope of Harry’s back.

   “Hurts,” Harry got out, twisting his face in pain when another drop came down. “It’s good.”

   Draco drank in his every word. “Yes,” he moaned, rubbing his hardening cock in between the soft mounds of Harry’s arse. Another drop fell down.

   “I want it, Sir,” Harry found himself saying in spite of the pain. The next drop was even bigger, and the flame was close to the skin of his shoulder. “Ah!”

   “Breathe through it.”

   The wax that had fallen on Harry’s skin had already begun to harden, stretching his skin in with it. The vibration around his cock only added to the sensation, leaving him hard and suspended in his arousal. “Sir, please,” Harry begged. “Please touch me.”

   “Bad boys don’t get rewards until they’re done being punished,” Draco decided, giving his arse a slap for his insolence.

   Harry tugged at his bonds again, whimpering. The hot wax slid down the candle drop after drop, singing Harry’s skin for a sharp moment and then releasing into a dull ache. The next drop fell on his left shoulder to continue the line of red down his wingspan.

   Draco gave Harry another spank to get him talking again. He liked hearing what was on his pet’s mind, especially when it had to do with him. He released Harry from his grip and began to tug at his own cock, knowing exactly how he would humiliate Harry next.

   “Master, I want to please you,” Harry gasped as another drop came down, hoping that it would help Draco lend a hand with Harry’s throbbing member, trapped and bound much as Harry was. Unfortunately, Draco was busy getting himself off.

   “This is pleasing me, dear,” Draco cooed. “I like seeing you squirm.”

   Another lava-hot drop fell on the inside crease of Harry’s left elbow. “I’ll do anything, Sir, please! I’ve been a bad slut but I can be good!”

   “I doubt it,” he laughed, spanking him again and getting a moan from Harry. “See? You’re a bad boy. You love how I hurt you, and you love it even more when I fuck you like some streetwalker.” Draco pumped at his cock faster and harder, aiming at the abused expanse of Harry’s back. “You get hard every time!” he shuddered, closer than ever. In a heartbeat, he was coming all over Harry in shameless bursts.

   It took Draco a second to catch his breath before speaking again. “Corporal punishment is in order.”

   With that, Draco let the last drop of wax fall onto Harry’s left wrist. Harry let out a final jerk, trying to pull away from the heat. “Yes, Sir. Any punishment you want,” Harry pleaded. Anything to give him some relief against that ring, offering all stimulation and zero friction.

   Draco let the ropes fall to the ground, releasing Harry from his tight grip and causing him to fall face first onto the floor, arse in the air. Draco couldn’t have dreamed up anything more delicious if he tried, the wax still clinging to Harry’s skin along with Draco’s seed dribbling down his back.

   “ _Any_ punishment?.”

   At this point, Harry would have been okay with anything Draco had to offer that didn’t kill him in the process.

   Oddly, he felt a rush of fabric fall onto his back where Draco’s come stuck to it. Even though his arms were still sore, he moved a hand to clutch at it.

   “Get changed,” Draco ordered in reference to the new clothes, walking out of the room to mill about the house and build Harry’s anticipation.

   With the vibrating ring still clamped around him and not even having been allowed to come yet, Harry felt ragged and frustrated. Even so, he was determined. Harry would do anything to please his Draco, no matter how hard-to-get he was pretending to be.

   He looked down at the clothes that had been left for him and grinned. It was one of the silk teddies that they had bought in the store; the purple one, more specifically.

   Cock absolutely aching for release, Harry knew the consequences if he touched himself. Draco would be furious, and exact his revenge. Not in a particularly fun way, either.

   So Harry manned up and slipped on the violet lace thong over his cock. The head of it seeped with pre-come, and stained the crotch of the underwear almost immediately. Next came the teddy, cool silk rushing over burnt, hot skin.

   The only thing left to do was wait. Harry sunk back to his knees in the exact place that Draco left him, knowing that his husband would appreciate the sign of obedience.

   Fifteen minutes passed until Draco returned with a half-full glass of water in his hand. After all, dominating The Boy Who Lived was thirsty work.

   “Drink,” he commanded, handing the water to Harry. He hadn’t even realized how dry his mouth was until he took a sip. That sip became a gulp, and before he knew it the whole thing was washed down his throat. “Greedy.”

   Draco pulled over a chair from the nearby writing desk and sat to observe his handiwork. Harry looked like he’d been through hell and back, but the bulge in his thong said otherwise. Plus, he looked entirely shaggable in that outfit. Nothing like a little Savior of The World in women’s underwear.

   “You’re my slutty little wife,” Draco decided, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

   “I’m anything you want me to be, Sir.”

   “Good answer. Now bend over my knee.”

   Harry got up from his knees only to rest his chest on Draco’s, arse vulnerable and in the air while his hands touched the floor. Draco traced a finger down the red path of wax he had left before ripping one fleck off, causing Harry to squirm in his lap.

   With predatory eyes, Draco slipped his finger under the string of Harry’s thong and brought it up as high as it could stretch before letting it snap down onto the crack of Harry’s arse.

   “Who do you belong to, again?” Draco asked, tenderly rubbing Harry’s soft skin.

   “You, Sir,” Harry answered, voice sweet as he could make it.

   “And what are you?”

   “I’m your slut, Sir. Nothing more.” Harry was free. He wasn’t Harry Potter, or even Harry Malfoy-Potter, he was just a man who was safe in the arms of someone he loved. He certainly wasn’t a murderer who took Tom Riddle’s life, or an exalted savior.

   Draco smiled. “Maybe you can be good, then. But I’m still going to have to punish you.”

   “I’m glad to be punished, Sir,” Harry told him, trying his hardest not to rut his hips against Draco’s legs for relief.

   “Good.” Draco summoned a bottle of lubricant, dipping his finger in before moving aside the string of Harry’s thong and pushing in.

   Harry pushed back onto the finger and whined. Draco was practically feeding off of his desperation, working the finger in and out a few times before he added a second and third.

   When Draco felt Harry was properly prepared, he summoned a plug from their trove. He could feel the vibration of Harry’s cock ring against his leg as he pushed the fat silicone plug in where his fingers used to be. It was so erotic that Draco was shocked it wasn’t illegal. Then again, it was definitely sinful. “Clench,” he ordered.

   Face heating up, Harry tightened his sphincter around the plug which pressed it up closer to his prostate gland. Sweating feverishly, Harry let out a pathetic moan that woke Draco’s cock again.

   “That’s it,” Draco comforted, knowing how the stretching must have gnawed at his need. He slicked the remaining lubricant over his own shaft, seeing as Harry was already about to burst if it hadn’t been for the charmed cock ring.

   Draco brought his hand down so fast on Harry’s arse it left a red mark in the shape of his hand. Harry cried out, hands digging into the floor while his feet lifted off of the floor, toes curled. That simply wouldn’t do.

   “Hands,” Draco demanded, forcing Harry to fit all of his body onto the tiny chair before he gave him another loud spank. “And don’t forget to count, slut. Start at ‘one’.”

   The next spank was almost deafening, and had Harry reeling for purchase on the chair. “One!” he yelled out.

   “Mm, there’s my good little boy.”

   “Two!” Harry groaned, this time sneaking in a brush of his cock against Draco’s thigh.

   Three and four left marks that stung, hard. Harry wasn’t sure if he could take it anymore when five came down with an even louder smack of skin, so he gave in and rubbed himself on Draco’s thigh again.

   “You’re so horny for it,” Draco laughed, letting the violation slide. “Why don’t we switch positions, hm?”

   “Anything you want, Sir.” Harry almost couldn’t get the words out he was shaking so badly.

   Feeling almost a little sorry for his submissive sweetheart, Draco controlled Harry’s body with ease. He spread Harry’s legs over his own thighs, with Harry’s knees resting on the edges of the chair. Only inches below his plugged hole was Draco’s cock, hard as ever.

   That put Harry’s cock at about the level of his chest, so Draco gave him a little mercy. Draco reached out to stroke Harry’s neglected and flagging prick, rubbing his downy soft sack with the other hand as the nearby ring continued to vibrate. It made Harry shiver with delight, and he let out a practically pornographic moan.

   “You can hardly control yourself,” Draco remarked. “Now, do you want me to take your cock ring off?”

   “Yes,” Harry gasped, forgetting the essential title. “Yes, Sir. Please, Sir!”

   With a sigh, Draco slipped two fingers down the front of the ring and began to remove it. Harry almost jumped for joy before realizing he was still in Draco’s lap. “You can come after I do,” Draco decided, tossing the lube-covered ring away and digging his nails into Harry’s shoulders to press his downwards.

   “Fuck me,” Harry begged suddenly. “Oh, please, Sir. I need to get fucked so badly.”

   “Yes you do.” Draco latched on to the fantasy immediately. “Tell me how much you need my cock.”

   Harry began babbling incoherently as Draco removed the plug at a torturous pace. When it finally exited him, Draco tossed that to the side as well. “Please, please, please—“

   “Fuck yourself with my rod,” Draco demanded. “Show me how badly you want it, you little cockslut.”

   As soon as the words left Draco’s lips, Harry lowered himself onto the head of Draco’s cock and took all of him in as quickly as he could. Even though his arse was swollen and sore from the plug, he needed Draco in him.

  Not sure how he was going to do this, Harry took a moment. When he’d pretty much figured it out, he slipped his knees down off of the chair, impaling himself on Draco until the tips of his toes reached the floor again.

   And with that, he bobbed up and down. It was hardly much at first, but Harry rocked Draco right into his prostate with every lift off of the chair with his hands. Draco watched in wonder, stunned by the beautiful man moving up and down on his prick.

   Still, he was going to make Harry work for it.

   Draco barely lifted a finger, keeping his eyes on Harry’s face as waves of pleasure rolled through him and caused him to tilt his head back. He was so tight around Draco that he almost couldn’t believe Harry’s warmth was real.

   Finally, Draco met one of Harry’s little bounces with a hard thrust upwards. Both of them let out a strangled moan, and then it was _really_ on.

   Draco thrust up inside Harry at an alarming rate, shoving his cock deeper and faster and harder and “Oh, yes, fuck, Harry! That’s it, that’s my boy!” His hand wrapped around Harry’s freed manhood, tugging hard.

   “Draco,” Harry groaned from the back of his throat. “Ram me, for fuck’s sake--!”

   Harry was so close to orgasm, and it was so well worth it. All he had to do was make Draco come, and it was all his. Easy. Draco took his earlier prompt a step further, thrusting his hips up so savagely that Harry didn’t know which way the ceiling was anymore.

   “Harry!” Draco cried out, coming undone in the chair only seconds before Harry did. He rode out the aftershock on high, only pulling out of Harry when he couldn’t stay in him any longer.

   Draco’s husband absolutely flattened out on top of him, panting and wheezing for air. Draco’s arms wrapped around him tight, and this time he was the one to carry Harry to bed.

   They laid together in companionable silence, nothing needed to be said or done. Harry was still curled around Draco, and Draco curled around Harry. They saw the sun setting out of the west window of the room, and watched it fade from light to dark. Oddly enough, the only light left in the room aside from starlight and moonlight was the candle Draco had never snuffed out.

   “I trust you,” Harry marveled quietly. He really did, too.

   “And I trust you. I’ve never shared anything like that with anyone else,” Draco told his sleepy-eyed beauty. “You looked so beautiful during it. Riding me… Damn, you’re incredible. Did I hurt you too much?”

   Harry shook his head. “’Course not. That was great.” He’d been humiliated, bound, degraded, beaten, hit, spanked, tied up, and shagged. What wasn’t there to love? “I’m really glad that we do that, you know.”

   “So am I.”

   “I like it when you take control,” Harry whispered, nuzzling his head close to Draco’s chest above the sheets. “Sort of like with the wedding. I like making you happy, and it makes me happy too.” Dare he use an ‘us’? Sure, Harry had been the one to bring it up first, but Draco had almost literally jumped at the idea. “Mutually beneficial.”

   “I’m sure that was in our wedding vows somewhere,” Draco murmured, smiling. “To love, to cherish, to enjoy being smacked around by…”

   “To suck, and fuck until death do us part,” Harry finished with a laugh. Pausing, he breathed in Draco’s scent and intertwined their legs. “Do you ever get the feeling we’re sort of strange?”

   Draco nodded and pushed a piece of stray hair behind Harry’s ear. “Every day, my sweet husband, every day.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where am I? What year is it? Most importantly, what happened to my search history?


	43. Time Will Tell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sob, the grand finale! The epilogue! Oh, tragedy of tragedies!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so they honeymoon continues! This one is for The Nick Cages, because you motherfuckers actually READ THIS FIC. Congrats on your look into my psyche. This last chapter is also for all the people who’ve followed every chapter and left reviews at every turn. I sincerely wish the best for all of you; you’re sweethearts, and will hopefully follow me in my other Drarry adventures.

**Chapter 43: Time Will Tell**

   “Maybe,” Harry said, sinking into the Jacuzzi waters to slide in next to Draco. “We could pretend we got into a boating accident. We’d put protection charms on the house so that everyone would think it was inaccessible, and haunted.”

   Draco chuckled and nudged his nose along Harry’s jaw. “Wouldn’t that be quite the urban legend? The Malfoy-Potters, cursing every living soul to enter their sex palace and final resting place.”

   “I quite like the sound of that.”

   “Pansy would probably find out,” Draco sighed, resigning the plan. Her and her amateur detective skills would take years to do it, but she would find them.

   Harry pressed on anyway. “Then we could keep travelling. We’d see India, China, France, Italy, and maybe even some of South America… They’d never find us,” he murmured into Draco’s ear, sliding his hand up Draco’s bare thigh beneath the water. They’d given up on clothes entirely, and their suitcases had gone basically untouched.

   “You’d start missing the Weasleys,” Draco decided, leaning into his touch anyway.

   “We could send postcards.”

   Starting to get the idea that Harry wasn’t entirely joking, he turned to look him in the eye. “You’d really want that?” Draco asked.

   “Well,” Harry retreated. “I don’t know. It’d be good for a while, but I _have_ just become Head Auror…”

   “And now the streets of the world are all the safer for it,” he cooed, smoothing down Harry’s locks with his wet hand.

   Harry huffed. “I just showered.”

   “Then I’ll have to give you another one later.”

   “But really. I think I might want to travel,” Harry continued, putting his own soaked hand in Draco’s blonde hair.

   “Agh!” Draco moved away from the sudden splash of chlorine with a smile. “Prat. Anyway, I think that’d be nice, too. Maybe next summer?”

   “Next summer,” Harry agreed. They had a lifetime of summers together to look forward to, after all. Also, since he liked how much Draco recoiled at a simple splash of water, he sent another miniature wave his way.

   This time, Draco was ready to retaliate. Water sloshed out of the Jacuzzi as he swam forward and tackled Harry. They fell into the water with a chorus of laughter only to be drowned out when their heads dipped below the surface and all sounds of the outside world faded.

   They really were in their bubble for a moment. Draco didn’t open his eyes for the fear of a chlorine burn, his ears muffled, nose and mouth rendered useless, leaving only his sense of touch under the water.

   Harry, unafraid of a little burry vision, opened his eyes and tugged Draco in by his waist for a kiss under the water. A surprised bubble of water escaped Draco’s lips before closing over Harry’s.

   Sunlight streamed in above the surface and caught in Draco’s hair. Harry decided a sight like that was worth 20/20 clarity, or as close as his eyes could get to 20/20.

   He pulled Draco up to the surface and felt his lungs fill back up with air in time with Draco’s.

   “One week in and you’re already trying to drown me?” Draco snarked against Harry’s lips.

   “Please,” Harry huffed between kisses, hands pressed hard to the small of his back. “If I wanted to kill you, I would be much smarter about it.”

   At that, Draco retracted his kisses. “Oh?”

   “Well, I _am_ an Auror.”

   “Mm, you’d know all the best places to dump the body,” Draco admitted, immediately going along with the joke.

   Harry shook his wet head, pressing a finger to Draco’s lips. “Oh, Draco. We both know that leaving a body is a nightmare for forensics and detective suspicion.”

   Draco laughed around the finger, pushing it away so he could sneak in another quick kiss. “Really?” he grinned. “So cremation it is?”

   “Exactly.”

   “At least that wouldn’t put me in the Malfoy Crypts.” Years after a war where they had been on opposite sides, the joke was tinged with the darkest of humor that made Harry laugh. It was almost as if the war was more memory than reality. Harry had dreamed for days like this when he was in the tent with Hermione after Ron had left, feeling utterly hopeless.

    “And here I was thinking you liked dungeons and dank tunnels,” Harry teased.

   “They suited me well enough for school, but I don’t think they’d be an ideal place to spend an eternity.”

   Harry couldn’t stop the words from coming out of his mouth. “What place would you like, then?”

   Draco raised a pale eyebrow. “Are we really talking about funeral plans on our honeymoon?” he asked, incredulous. “Talk about a mood-killer.”

   “We should talk about it at some point, though,” Harry murmured, frustrated with himself for even bringing it up.

   The embarrassment was visible on Harry’s face; a look that Draco thought suited him incredibly well, those cheeks rosy red and his lips in a slight pout. “Oh, my lion cub, come here,” Draco sighed, outstretching his arms.

   Beneath the surface of the bubbling Jacuzzi, Draco’s charmed and saran-wrapped ankle lurked without a remnant of pain left. Draco would be damned if he couldn’t use a Jacuzzi on his honeymoon, so he researched as many waterproof spells as he could.

   Harry crawled into his lap, still in good humor about the tattoo. “You’re mental,” Harry grinned. “You and Simba.”

   “Shut up. You’re Simba.”

   “That could be interesting.”

   “I draw the line at animal-play,” Draco laughed, kissing his cheek in a rare display of affection. He almost looked around to see if anyone was watching first before remembering that they were on their own little paradise, entirely isolated.

   Harry laughed too. “Walt Disney would roll over in his grave.”

   “Who?” Draco asked, tilting his head.

   “Nobody,” Harry gave in.

   Draco crossed his arms over his chest, feigning jealousy. “Oh, really? And how often do you and this ‘Disney’ get together?”

   “All the time,” he nodded. “We’re constantly fucking around behind your back, actually.”

   Another splash of water hit Harry over the head.

   “What? I was just kidding!”

   “Prick,” Draco grinned, revealing that he wasn’t mad at all.

   “You know who I belong to,” Harry murmured into his ear after he pulled himself onto Draco’s lap again. He left out the ‘and who you belong to’ since it didn’t even need to be said.

   Draco turned to face Harry, giving him a quick, teasing kiss. “Actually, I think I may have forgotten. Care to remind me?”

   Hooking a leg around Draco’s waist, Harry had just the plan. “Of course, Sir,” he grinned, dipping in for a kiss.

******

   It wasn’t supposed to rain in heaven. Harry knew that much, at least, in his dreamy haze of morning.

   Actually, it was more around noon.

   Either way, Harry heard and saw the outlines of pitter-pattering rain on the westward window from their oyster in the storm. When he rolled over to tell Draco that this was very depressing and he would most likely need sex to cheer him up, he found that Draco’s indent in the bed was all that was left of him.

   Confused, Harry sat up. “Draco?” he groaned, still half asleep.

   “Shower!” a voice called out from the adjacent bathroom. Maybe that had attributed to the sound of falling water that had so rudely woken Harry up.

   Lifting the covers, Harry got a very sudden and revealing glance of the number of bruises and welts on his body. His nipples were still sore and red, his thighs covered in paddle marks, and his arse looking downright abused. He loved it.

   Once he was on his feet, Harry padded over to the bathroom without even bothering to put his glasses on.

   When he opened the door, a burst of steam spread around his ankles. That was his Draco, taking obscenely warm showers to prepare for burning in hell or something. Harry was tired, okay?

   “Mornin’,” he greeted Draco as he climbed in behind the beige curtain and into the spray.

   “Good morning,” Draco grinned, hair soapy and lathered with bubbles in all sorts of strange directions. Even though there was a bit of shampoo on his lip, he kissed Harry’s forehead.

   “It’s _raining_.”

   “I know, love,” Draco soothed as he poured a handful of shampoo in his hand to work through Harry’s hair. “We’ll just have to stay inside and find something to do.”

   Harry leaned forward to rest his hips on Draco’s. “Board games?” he asked coyly.

   “Mm, not what I had in mind.”

   “And I doubt television is on that list.”

   “This place doesn’t even have a television,” Draco reminded him cheerily before ducking Harry’s head under the water to rinse out the shampoo.

   The suds washed down his shoulders and Harry shook out his mop like a wet dog. Before he knew what he was really doing, he was on his knees in front of Draco.

   Lazily, his tongue sloped up the inside of Draco’s legs to where they met. Draco tipped his head back into the water, letting out a content moan. Screw the rain, Draco was sure he was still in the throes of Nirvana.

   Harry finally turned his attention to Draco’s hardening prick.

   In languid strokes, Harry’s tongue worked at him up and down the shaft. Harry was intent on making the moment last.

   Above the action was Draco’s smug grin, interrupted by the occasional moan. His hands cradled Harry’s head as his tongue slid up to the base of his cock again so that his nose was buried in the tuft of blonde hair. Draco had to bite back a shout.

   “Harry,” he gasped out, tipping his husband’s head up to face him. “Let me touch you.”

   Without another word, Draco sank down into the large, luxurious porcelain bath tub. Sprawled over Harry, both were a mess of dripping-wet hair and morning arousal.

   One would think that a week and a half of shagging, frotting, snogging, and lazing around with the same person would infuse a numb sense of boredom into every kiss. Fortunately, Harry and Draco did as they usually did. They proved naysayers wrong.

   After all, if it wasn’t for that pesky refractory period, they would never have an excuse to stop touching each other. Merlin help any alternative universes where they were both women.

   Draco kissed him as he came with Harry into his hand, perfectly fine in the universe he was in. Out of millions, he had found one. Daresay, The One.

   Only time could tell.

******

   A breezy twenty-six degrees Celsius, benches set up in front of the altar, red walkway rolled out, and everything was complete. Out of the window of her private villa, Lily Malfoy-Potter could see the waves crashing onto the shore.

   A summer wedding, just like her parents had.

   "You can still run," Draco told his daughter as he twirled his wand around in her hair, making thick honeyed curls. "We can floo out of here and forget this ever happened."

   Lily rolled her eyes. "Dad, come on."

   "Blondeness is a recessive trait, sweetie. He's a ginger–" and a Weasley, at that. "–and at best, your kids will be _strawberry blonde_."

   "Calm down, Dad. We aren't having kids for a long time."

   He finished her last curl, letting it tumble down onto her shoulder right above the line of her milky-white dress.

   Carefully, Draco positioned the tiara with her lace veil trailing down her back.

   "You look beautiful."

   Lily beamed before hearing the sound of her villa door open. "I swear, if that's Hugo–"

   "Trying to talk our daughter out of wedlock?" Harry asked his husband as he strolled in, stopping short at seeing his little girl in full bridal garb. "Oh, _Lily_."

   "Papa," she greeted, standing up so that her skirts fell around her. "Daddy can talk all he wants. You can, too." The both of them shared a protective vein.

   Draco felt a stab of guilt for voicing his opposition. He'd remembered how hard his father had been on Harry, but he couldn't help it. When his intelligent, beautiful, mature, and talented daughter was being courted by a Gryffindor, his defenses flew up. "I'm happy for you, you know."

   Lily outstretched a hand to both of her fathers so that they joined in a little family hug, minus her two brothers who were busy ushering in guests from Olivia Lupin to the Creeveys. Theo and Colin had an intense proclivity towards adoption, and their five children were living proof.

   After them came Pansy and Maggie, the Zabinis, and was Charlie with someone? The Malfoy-Potter boys saw their old 'uncle' with another man and shared a knowing look.

   "We love you," Harry reminded her, as he always did.

   "And I love you two, too," she said with a smile. "But..." Lily grew quiet. "I need to know something."

   "Anything," Draco answered.

   Lily knew that already. It was anything for Daddy's princess, after all. Always had been. "Is it worth it? I mean, what if it doesn't work out?"

   Harry immediately responded. "It's worth it," he said with a conviction that made his husband smile. "You love Hugo, and he loves you. Marriage is a big commitment, but I know you can do it."

   "And if it doesn't work out," Draco said carefully, trying his hand at being accepting. "Then I'm sorry. But we will always be here for you, no matter what. We're family, and all you're doing is inviting him to join the family."

   Harry nodded in agreement. He remembered how scared of eternity he had been at his own wedding. "You'll still have the same flat, the same friends, the same jobs... You're pledging yourselves to each other, and that's the only bit that's changed."

   "That and tax deductibles," Draco added, always keen to make sure his Lily was financially pampered.

   "How romantic," Harry sighed.

   Draco grinned. "I am wildly romantic, so consider yourself lucky to have me."

   "I am," he replied, feeling his heart swell.

   Lily had taken just about enough of waiting around. It was her and Hugo's day, the one they'd dreamed and planned for. "Hush up, lovebirds," she told them. "I've made a decision."

   "What?" her parents asked at once.

   "Let's go get me hitched," Lily said, taking her dad's arm and her papa's arm, leading them out of the villa and into the sunlight.

~Fin!~


End file.
